A Need to Suffer
by spankingfemfatale
Summary: Alt ending for S6E9 of GoT. Instead of Ramsay Bolton getting torn apart by his own dogs, Sansa has decided that a quick death is far too kind for a monster like Ramsay. It's time he got a taste of what it's like to be on the receiving end of anguish. WARNING! Explicit content! (I would like to say that later chapters work towards a story of redemption for Ramsay and not just abuse)
1. Upside Down

WARNINGS! Okay, this fic is a very DARK fic, it deals in themes of (Captivity, Anal sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Gang Rape, Pegging, Spanking, and Bondage!) Very not nice things to happen to the not so poor Ramsay Bolton… sorry man, I have no pity and no regrets! XD

This was meant to be a oneshot, but well... I write too much, and the first half of this alone made it to 4K, so... there will be one more chapter. This chapter is mild, the next chapter will contain the much darker stuff, so be warned! oO

Chapter One

Upside Down

The taste of copper was his first recognition of waking. Ramsay gasped pulling sustenance from the cold air with a heavy chest as the pain cascaded through him and awareness finally took hold. He could tell at least one of his ribs had been broken, and other than severe aching, a few cuts and bruises, and a massive headache, Ramsay was no worse for wear surprisingly. If _he_ had taken that bastard prisoner, by now the man would have less appendages, flayed off skin, and most assuredly would have been screaming for clemency (which there would be none.)

Ramsay wasn't quite sure when he'd lost consciousness; it was sometime after that traitor knight's watchmen, had sank his fists vigorously into him. He sputtered lifting his head shakily to take in his surroundings. Ramsay's eyes were encrusted with blood one fiercely blinking while the other was squeezed shut with swelling. The room was dark, but even with lack of sight, he knew well where he was; it was his play room. He'd trained Reek to obey here, he'd taught many to obey here.

Oddly he was tied to his cross backwards he realized as he tugged at the restraints holding his wrists. He was fastened well, so well his hands were losing circulation. He flexed his fingers a few times to feel the tingling wash of pins and needles. His feet had been secured in the same fashion he comprehended dully as his head slumped forward once more, and his world faded into darkness.

It was many hours before he awoke again to the stinging sensation of something damp being pressed against his swollen eye. He jerked his head up suddenly, and Sansa took a step back. This man had driven a spike of fear so deep within her that even with him tied as he was, she reflexively flinched with over caution.

The balk was very slight, but Ramsay saw it and a smug smile breeched his split lips, "My dearest wife. I see you've come to tend to me. As a good woman should," Ramsay spoke with assuredness although it came out in a rasp from long hours of unconsciousness.

Sansa stood stiffly, no readable expression on her face as she took a step forward placing herself in front of him once more. She dabbed water from a small bowl in her hand and squeezed out the excess water as she returned to the task of cleaning off his face that she'd been performing before he'd awoken.

His lip twitched and his smile faltered a moment as his mind whirred unable to understand why she would go through the trouble of washing his face, "What's the point? You and I both know I won't be alive much longer… unless… unless you just can't stay away from me… or should I say my cock? Is that it? Did I give it to you so right and proper you just had to get another taste before they do away with me?" Ramsay hacked violently, but his grin remained, and his eyes stared madness back at her.

Sansa's eyes moved up to stare at him coldly, "I was never interested in anything you thought you could offer me. I'm more interested now in taking from you."

He glared now, his grin turned into a snarl as he spat, "What are you going to take? This house? My life? It was forfeit once your bastard brother took the keep back. That's of no doing of yours though my dear; you've taken nothing."

The corner of her lip turned up in a barely veiled smirk, "True. I did not take back this keep with my own hand, and I will not be the one to take your life, but mark my words Ramsay, before you die, I will take everything you are."

Ramsay lunged his face forward in an attempt to intimidate her. Rage poured over him to see the way she was looking at him; he wanted to pluck her eyes out for having the nerve!

Sansa only scoffed, "You want so badly to be in control, of yourself, your fate, anything really, but you're not are you? You never were, and that burns you. Even as that may be; I'm going to prove to you that you do have so much I can still take from you, and it will be by my command or my hand that it's taken. You'll beg for death by the time we're done."

Ramsay leaned back chuckling softly, "You? Sweet, sweet Sansa?" His mood shifted mercurially to a firm seriousness, "You're making a mistake. Untie me; right now, and all will be forgiven."

Sansa's brow furrowed studying the confident look he gave her as if he truly believed that she would bow to him once more, after everything. The audacity of the man was truly stunning. She stiffened lifting her chin regally, "lean forward; unless you want your face to remain covered in your own spittle and blood."

Ramsay's shark smile returned as he slumped back down, "As you wish, wife. Who am I to deny Lady Bolton her inclination to care for her husband? I suppose it is only right that a lord look presentable after all."

She didn't have to clean him up to do what she'd planned to do to him, but he liked games, and now she planned to play one with him. Cruelty was always best served with an ounce of kindness and false hope.

Ramsay groaned relaxing under the ministrations Sansa afforded him as she moved the rag across his wounded face swollen in several places. He stared lazily at her only closing his one good eye as she swiped the cloth across it. Otherwise, he just watched her silently almost seemingly bored.

She stared back as she worked trying not to grimace, and once done, she backed away to give him a full look over. His one good eye followed her as the smirk returned to his face. She smirked back although it wasn't for the reasons he would ever imagine. Hers was because she was taking joy in the fact that she looked forward to the moment his smugness would fade and never return.

"Well? Do I meet inspection?" He snorted incredulously still trying to stare her down.

She turned away and walked a few steps to a small table holding a large searing knife. She wrapped her hand around its handle and watched his body go rigid through her peripheral. When she turned back to face him, Ramsay had put on a brave face straining to keep his grin in place, but she could tell it was forced.

He let out a nervous laugh, "What? Are you going to cut me now? Wouldn't that just defeat the purpose of you wiping off all the blood?"

Sansa said nothing as she took resolute step after resolute step towards him all the while her expression remaining stony. Her flesh was writhing in goosebumps though; she was terrified, but she would not let him see that side of her ever again. He'd taken enough from her, it was time he knew what it felt like to be a victim. She stated evenly, "I have no intention of cutting you or maiming you in any way. In fact, nothing I do to you will leave any lasting physical damage. I'm not like you Ramsay; I have limits, but you'll still break all the same.

His laugh stuttered out a little more loudly in obvious disbelief, "You … you think that a small slip of a girl like yourself can break me? Without injuring me? Either you take me for a weakling, or you're far out of your league girl. I tend to vote on the latter!"

She didn't give him the satisfaction of a response as she kept moving up to stand directly behind him.

Ramsay's jaw tightened as he swallowed hard, and his heart beat took on an erratic hammering in his chest. He braced himself to feel the cold steel cutting into him, after all, he'd lied plenty to those he'd tortured, and it would be no surprise to him if she was using pretty words to get his guard down.

Sansa paused for a long moment letting him simmer in his own anticipation before she moved into action once more. Ramsay tensed as he felt his shirt raise, but it wasn't his flesh that she cut into. The knife instead tore through his leathers and undershirt. His tattered clothing now hung limply leaving the middle of his back exposed.

Sansa traced the knife lightly up his spine, and Ramsay's body couldn't help but to release a small tremble as he twisted his head back to try and watch what she would do next. She saw fear in his eyes, and the sight of it filled her with a flush of heat. She liked that look on his face. Sansa made quick work cutting each sleeve off now leaving Ramsay topless.

"I knew it. You do want me!" Ramsay stated gleefully as he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to remove some of the constant ache that had settled in his joints, "Oh Sansa, you're a twisted little cunt aren't you? You should have let me know beforehand; we could have had so much fun together."

Sansa responded by taking the knife to the right leg of his pants and shearing it off in one rugged swipe. She repeated the action with the other leg and pulled the shreds of what was left away from Ramsay. He clenched as she did so his ragged breathing more prominent now as she'd ripped his clothes from him and left him completely bare to her. She could tell this bothered him, and she allowed herself a small satisfied smile, "I still plan for us to have fun together, my dear husband."

Ramsay was straining to look at her from the angle he was capable of turning to see her. He was no longer smiling recognizing fully that whatever she had planned for him, it wasn't going to be what he had originally expected of her. All the playfulness left his tone as he addressed her now, "You're a lady Sansa! What… whatever you're thinking, I beg you to reconsider your course of action! Whatever you do now, you can't take back!"

"Oh, I know quite well what I'm capable of doing Ramsay, but you don't. You will though," she stated simply as she moved over to the small table once more bending down to pick up a bucket. The water sloshed about as she brought it back over to where she previously stood. She said nothing more as she pulled a scrub brush from the bucket and began roughly scrubbing him down.

The shock of the cold water had Ramsay's back arch as he growled out, "Have you gone mad?!" Sansa ignored him continuing to scrub away raking his skin harshly with a horsehair bristled brush meant for scouring floors. He was confused by her behavior, and his body strained violently now even though it hurt to do so.

Sansa worked him over fully cleaning every exposed inch and enjoying very much the way he jerked about while she took extra care to insure his privates were cleaned. He was doing his best not to make a sound, but the ragged breathing, as well as the tensing and rippling of his body revealed his discomfort. He relaxed a little when she dropped the brush back into bucket and moved to grab a towel to dry him off.

"Do you plan to play dress up next?" He cocked his head to the side giving her a poised smile. These Starks were an odd bunch, and he was starting to wonder if this whole affair was an elaborate means to present him in front of some farce of a trial. This wasn't king's landing, and they weren't the types of nobles to play such charades, but it might be a show of power to do so and show themselves to be civil even in the face of war to those that had taken up arms with the Starks to retake Winterfell.

Sansa leveled a look of seriousness on him, "No; you won't be needing any clothes anytime soon." She didn't give him a chance to query further as she turned and exited the dungeon.

Ramsay watched her go, his body involuntarily shivering in the chill of the dank room. Once she'd gone, he pulled violently on the ropes that bound him exhausting himself to the point of panting by the time she'd returned. In her hand, she carried a basket that she walked back over to the table and set down. Ramsay craned his neck to see its contents, but she was standing in front of the opening as her hand moved around inside of it keeping its contents a mystery.

The first item withdrawn from the basket was a thick piece of leather tapered at the end into a handle. Sansa pulled it out hefting it experimentally before turning back to Ramsay, who stared daggers at her.

Was that a… strap? Seriously? Ramsay was almost offended but otherwise relieved it wasn't something worse. This girl was a fool and an amateur. He smirked at her, "Is that all you could come up with? I suppose you always were rather dull," he hoped to anger her into reacting harshly and wearing herself out or to sap her confidence from her, and make her back out altogether. He hadn't affected her though he knew as she strode towards him with the implement, head held high, and expression determined.

Sansa took a deep breath steeling herself before she reared back and brought the strap down across Ramsay's backside harshly.

It'd been a very long time since he had felt this particular sting, and his breath caught in a harsh gasp as the weight of the instrument brought home a presence that radiated a resonating bite that Ramsay had not expected to cling to his flesh. He was so used to being the one delivering pain; he'd never received pain in such a capacity as torture. It certainly wasn't much fun on the receiving end; there was a certain clarity about being held helpless to just accept what was given that left the one on the reciprocating side unable to concentrate on anything else. Her chosen means of delivering pain may not leave devastating physical damage, but it made every nerve ending alive and ready to ignite acutely.

Sansa continued to lay heavy handed lash after lash decorating his pale flesh with angry red welts.

It wasn't until she'd started to move over already inflamed flesh did Ramsay start to lose his composure as he snarled out an inarticulate growl of rage yanking on his restraints, "You pathetic little twat! What do you think this is going to do to me other than make me very angry!" Ramsay hissed dangerously as he flexed his fingers and balled his fists once more. The truth was, this was starting to really hurt, and he didn't know how much longer he'd hold out before she started to actually get under his skin.

She answered his angry retort by squaring up and hitting him harder with continuous even strokes. She'd never done anything to this extreme, but she had helped her mother growing up by spanking her younger siblings to keep them in line (of course never this severe, but it did give her the technique.) The strap had been no stranger in the Stark keep, and when she'd decided she'd wanted to have a chance to punish Ramsay herself, this was the first thing her mind went to. It may have been laughable to Ramsay when they started, but she could see that she was slowly wearing down the exterior he'd put in place, and once she'd broken him this way, she'd move to the next stage and break him further. She wasn't a sadist at heart, but being his wife for a time, Ramsay had taught her enough.

By the third round, Ramsay was visibly clenching in anticipation, growling out, and twitching with every connection of the strap trying to just keep his anger at the forefront of his mind hoping she'd eventually grow weary, "Are you done yet?! This is ridiculous!" He shouted through clenched teeth. His anger was starting to slip as the realization that she was pacing herself sank in. How long exactly did she expect to keep this up?

"Is it? And no, I've got plans to keep this up for quite some time. In fact, you're going to apologize profusely to me and ask me for my forgiveness before I'll stop," Sansa stated flatly.

Ramsay forced a laugh, "That's never going to happen! You'll beat me unconscious before I give you an apology whore!"

"Suit yourself," Sansa quipped changing hands and starting in on him again with solid unerring strikes that she continued to lay down in succession in the same areas she'd hit multiple times.

Ramsay's flesh was turning a dark hue of deep red that would pass into shades of purple as the skin began to bruise over. As a last ditch effort to keep his dignity, he railed every expletive he could think of at her and bucked viciously doing his best to shake the base of the cross he was strapped to, but it was solid and would not budge. His body collapsed finally in exhaustion once he'd spent all of his energy, but she never wavered. The ceaseless burn that continued to get more sensitive wore away at his resolve, and he shouted with as much animosity as he could muster, "Enough! Sansa, enough already!"

If he'd expected her to stop due to his command, he was to be sorely mistaken; she did however reiterate calmly, "I told you what you need to do Ramsay, apologize and plead for my forgiveness."

He wasn't sure if it was the pain or the unruffled response she gave him, but a panic had begun to crop in Ramsay as he realized it was clear that he wasn't going to win this battle with her. He was going to end up eating his words and doing just what she told him, and the thought of giving that much to her was killing him.

It had begun as a slow trickle of grunts and occasional yelps when they'd first started, but by the time Sansa had reached the fifth round on already very tender flesh, Ramsay was bleating drawn out screams of pain. He didn't want to play her game anymore as he snarled with the last of his contempt, "Alright! Alright! You win! Sansa stop already! I'm sorry! Forgive me!"

It was Sansa's turn to laugh, "That wasn't sincere at all. You're going to have to do better."

Ramsay couldn't believe his ears, he'd debased himself enough just to let the words pass through his lips, he'd be damned if he gave her anymore lip service as he raged, "You want an I'm sorry? For what! Driving an arrow into your brother's back perhaps? Well my dear wife, I'm REALLY not sorry! I WISH I'd had more time with him to cut little pieces off the whelp and force feed them down his throat until he CHOKED to death!"

Sansa gasped, and Ramsay laid his head back and let out a victorious laugh stilted and weak as it was, it did his heart good to hear that exclamation come from her. It was a small win to know he'd caused her pain even in this state. He'd stunned her momentarily, and if she was the simpering girl he'd come to know in the bedroom, he expected that she would lose her conviction, run off crying with hurt feelings, and finally abandon this silly crusade.

She did not, instead, Sansa took the strap in both hands and swung it full force into Ramsay in swift intermittent slaps that echoed off the walls with their severity.

Ramsay's eyes bugged in surprise at the impact as he let out a piercing scream of agony. The pain ricocheted through him at such a velocity his mind could barely comprehend where one swat began and another one ended. He was already severely pained, and the rate that she was hitting him left no room to prepare for the punishment she unleashed on him now.

It only took moments before Ramsay had had all he could take and called out desperately, "I… I didn't mean that! I was only angry! I… I'm sorry! Lady Sansa! Please! I'm sorry! Forgive me! Forgive me!" He twisted and bucked, but she showed no signs of relenting. He'd struck a chord in her, and she didn't care that he screamed bloody murder now. All Sansa saw was Rickon's face, and as tears streamed down her own face, she took her anguish out on Ramsay viciously until she heard his voice crack through high pitched shrieks, "Mercy! Please!"

"Mercy?" She hissed angrily carrying the word with another lash, "You* give* no* mercy!" She yelled bitterly annunciating every word with a stinging swat.

Ramsay had passed his threshold for pain a while ago and now sobbed miserably, "Sansa! Please! Please show mercy! You're a good woman! Please stop!" It was true, she was better than him, and he could only hope that she would take the high road and give him a reprieve from the excruciating taxation she took from him now. Ramsay's limbs shook as he shuttered in both pain and humiliation; she'd stated she would break him, he hadn't believed it was possible, but she had indeed broken him, and he loathed himself to have let her drag him this low. His body sagged in thankfulness when he heard the implement hit the floor with a thud.

Sansa hadn't had the strength to hold the strap any longer, but she'd accomplished the first part of her goal to make that twisted prick fold. It was music to hear his soft pitiful cries now. He wasn't nearly as tough as he'd thought he was Sansa thought contentedly. He'd actually crumpled far faster than she'd expected, but she supposed only the truly weak of character would do the sick things to people that Ramsay did to begin with.

Having fully regained her own composure now, she wiped at her eyes and sniffed before she strode over in front of him glimpsing his tear stained face before he ducked his head in shame not wanting her to see his tears. Her mouth formed a firm line, "Look at me." He didn't, he couldn't bring himself to as his body continued to quake with his attempts to control himself, "I said look at me Ramsay. If you do not, I'm going to return for my strap to continue wearing out your hide."

This was enough to get his attention and know she was quite serious. The thought of returning to her strapping him was enough encouragement for him to comply, and he shakily darted his one good eye up to look at her plaintively. Never had a woman brought him so low, not even a man had, but for him it was worse with it having been the weaker sex to have done so. Ramsay was a picture of misery with his lip quivering at the loss of pride he felt. It was a far contrast to the arrogance he'd always exuded in front of her; it was satisfying to behold, and he could see his wretchedness pleased her. He felt sick as he averted his gaze as soon as he'd acquiesced to her demand. His face lowered scrunching up in barely contained grief before finding he couldn't hold back the tears that flooded forth like a broken damn now as he hiccupped in air feeling wholly sorry for himself to have let himself reach such a state at her hands. It was more humiliating to cry now in front of her after having held so much power over Sansa for so long. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be!

Sansa nodded pleased with the results. This monster had made her cry so many times delighting in her torment, to see him cracked and vulnerable before her gave her gratification. She wasn't finished though, he had much farther to fall before she'd let him rest.


	2. Inside Out

Chapter Two

Inside Out

Sansa just watched Ramsay snivel to choke back strangled tears in an effort to suppress the fact he had started crying in front of her in the first place; as if he could take it back. It was rough on Ramsay with the myriad of swelling that made it hard for him to breathe already and made quite noticeable his attempts to quell the noises that couldn't be stopped from escaping his throat. A hitched gasping of air hiccupped from his chest in jerked spasms from his attempts to suck the emotion he'd released back inside of himself.

The more he tried, the harder it was to regain control as the lack of control now only served to upset him further. It was humiliating, infuriating, and he seethed inwardly as a mounting rage built from his lack of ability to lash out at Sansa in response. He wanted to hurt her badly; he hated her more than he could remember hating anyone, and he was often filled with the quiet burning embers of derision for most everyone that he had any form of opposition with. But her, he held a special abhorrence for now. If only he could turn the tables on her for even thinking she could do this to him! She was so far beneath him, they all were.

If not for all the horrendous acts he'd done to her, her family, Theon, and countless others, seeing Ramsay hitching so dolefully might have given her a pang of guilt, but as it was, it just felt like justice partially served. He deserved to die for his atrocities, but he deserved to suffer even more.

She moved over to reclaim the rag she'd cleaned his face with earlier, her heels softly clicking on the stone floor as she made her way back to stand in front of him, "Look up," she stated crisply.

His dark hair was wet with perspiration hanging limply where the tips curled lightly in a matted disarray from the way he'd struggled only minutes prior. He swallowed hard finally finding the will to contain himself as he lifted his head slowly to meet her gaze. His mouth was a jagged line of snarling teeth as his one good eye squinted hatefully at her. He would have cursed her, but echoes of the pain he'd just suffered stilled his tongue. He was furious, but he wasn't that stupid.

Sansa reached up to wipe his face, and Ramsay recoiled violently rasping out through clenched teeth, "Don't you touch me!" His face shook with barely contained fury.

Sansa regarded him silently for a long moment thinking on his reaction and the way he'd made her feel on so many occasions. She'd wished she could have been given the option to confront him without fear of reprisal as he did her now. Then again, he should fear angering her. He didn't now, but he would she thought as she casually walked back around behind him to inspect the bruised flesh of his ass, her handiwork.

Ramsay had whipped his head back around to follow her; his breath quickened, and a small ripple of tremors raced up his spine as he watched her move closer to him. A low guttural noise rumbled out of him that spoke of frustration tinged with the tiniest hint of apprehension. His knees flexed anxiously in the limited amount of movement he was granted from being tied to the cross.

Sansa's eyes moved up to look him in the eye lingering for a moment before returning to the flesh before her. His last words still rang in her ears, and it resonated her previous thoughts that she'd never been the one to touch either him or any man. She had assumed he'd robbed the want of that from her. She'd thought perhaps his sadistic lust to roam her body, grab and bruise her, would have killed her desires completely, but now that he was tied helpless in front of her, she realized that a new craving was sparking within her that she hadn't anticipated.

Seeing Ramsay's resolve now, Sansa knew that though a severe beating alone may leave him ragged and pained, crying for mercy even, she would never scar him like he had her. She had planned to strap him just to make him more compliant, but she also planned to fuck him as he'd raped her, and once she'd had her vengeance, she would let the soldiers that wished to have their way with him do so while she watched. Just as he'd made Theon watch as he took her virginity, Ramsay would take it, he would take them all for her benefit.

The thought of seeing his reactions to these soon to be revelations was starting to excite Sansa; the realization that it was turning her on though scared her a little. She wanted him to feel what he'd put her through tenfold, and when she'd first envisioned this venture, her plan only held the feelings of anger and a wish to exact revenge. As she stared at him now, that wasn't entirely the case anymore.

She'd told Jon that she needed absolution for what he'd done to her by asking to have Ramsay tied up in this room; she told him that she'd wanted the opportunity to take her pound of flesh from him before he was killed. Jon had looked worried both for her safety and her conviction, but she had told him this was something she needed to move on. Jon knew the atrocities Ramsay had committed against her, and would not deny her the right to punish him first, so that she could feel mollified (although he had no idea to what extent she had planned.) He'd suggested hanging him in the courtyard when she'd finished with him, and at the time she'd thought it would finalize her pain.

She may have been content to see him hang at that moment then, but now she was starting to feel greedy. Perhaps once she finished breaking him she'd feel appeased and could let him go, perhaps not. Sansa thought of Theon then and wondered if she could ever be so cruel as to break someone to a point like Ramsay had. Theon was no longer the man she'd known; she could even say that she now forgave him (which was something just a few months ago would not have been the case), but for all the evils Theon committed, he couldn't hold a candle to Ramsay.

Perhaps… perhaps she would keep him like he'd kept Theon until she'd used him up and had broken him down so thoroughly he was no longer recognizable from the bastard she'd married. Her mind reveled now at the possibilities presented to her. She effectively could do whatever she desired to do with Ramsay, and there was nothing he could say or do about it. Her nipples perked beneath her blouse and she flushed with heat at the idea. At one point she would have been far too timid to even think such thoughts, but not any longer, Ramsay had stolen her innocence as well.

She purposefully reached out now and roughly sank her fingers into the raw flesh of his ass feeling the muscle shake and clench as Ramsay hissed lifting slightly on the balls of his feet. Sansa's eyes stared coolly into his as she continued to knead her fingers tightly into his scorched flesh watching him intently.

Ramsay grunted tensing at her touch a flicker of uncertainty playing across his face to see the avarice she now projected at him. She'd never looked at him like this before; when it was just the two of them, she'd always reflected the composure of a terrified animal that had just been struck with an arrow. He'd rather liked that look on her face, it'd made him want to take her that much more. Seeing the fear and pulling that to the forefront of his mind was one of the things he'd always gotten off to. The more panic a woman displayed from his ministrations the headier it'd made Ramsay feel. Miranda was the only girl he'd delighted in taking without making her scream, but he still made her squirm. He made them all squirm.

He wanted to rail at Sansa and unleash a torrent of anger, but her actions had Ramsay slightly stunned as she released her grip and moved her hand ever so softly across his tenderized skin; he could barely register her touch now. His flesh broke out in goosebumps and began to quiver ever so slightly as Sansa continued to explore his flesh in this more gentle way. He didn't like her touching him like this when he'd not been the one to make the first advancement. Ramsay forced a smile as he spat condescendingly, "Oh, so now you're interested in what you see?" He gave a small chuckle, "I hate to disappoint, but if you want my cock, you're going to have to untie me and put it in your mouth a good long while before I could ever forgive you for what you've just done."

His words had barely left his lips before Sansa's palm took action in three devastating slaps to his right hindquarters as she scoffed, "Your cock could shrivel and fall off for all I could care. You'll never use it again unless I cut it from you and put it in your own mouth as a gag."

It was Ramsay's turn to balk as he jolted from the stinging of her palm on already sore flesh and the comment that she'd directed at him. He never would have expected the normally quite eloquent lady Sansa to ever have such words pour from her lips. The fact that her threat was something she could actually make good on wasn't lost on him either. He grimaced holding himself in check now as he glowered over his shoulder his contempt he held for her. His jaw strained in his repressed rage as he took in a deep breath, "If you don't want my cock, what exactly is it that you're hoping to get from me, my dear Sansa."

Sansa replied quite simply, "Whatever I please. You owe me that much, and you'll give it to me whether you wish to or not. It won't be your choice." She'd added that last quip mostly to wound his pride. It'd worked she could tell as his mouth worked in agitation.

He looked away from her now digesting her words as he stated simply, "You think you hold all the cards? You can whip and bloody me all day, and even if you can get me to scream out in pain and buckle to torture, you'll never get back what I took from you. Long after I'm gone, I'll still be taking from you." He braced himself now ready to feel her retaliate against his words. He wanted her to lash out at him; he needed to feel he was still taking from her now even if it did cost him horribly.

To his surprise her hand had only stilled a moment before she continued to cross the small of his back tracing the musculature and gliding sensually down his hip as she spoke, "Do you remember our wedding night? You asked me… you asked me why I was still a virgin."

He blinked in confusion not fully comprehending where she was going with this as he turned a quizzical eye back to face her, "What?"

"You wanted to be sure that when you took me for the first time that you were the first to have done so," she paused carefully regarding him now with all seriousness.

Ramsay's face split into a wide vicious grin, "Of course, you were my wife, my property, and I wanted first rights as is a lord's due."

She could tell he was itching to offend her, but she gave no sign of the revulsion his words made her feel, instead a smile of her own grew across her face, "Yes, it is important to have first rights, so let me ask you now Ramsay, are you still a virgin?"

He chuckled as his head shook in his puzzlement, "Have you gone daft? You were at our wedding night," he gave her an apologetic look now, "Although, I'll let you in on a little secret," he leaned his head down towards her as he whispered playfully now, "You weren't my first if that's what you're getting at."

Her own smile widened taking on a sadistic glee as she continued to stare at him while taking a step closer and placing both hands on his ass. The flesh was hot to the touch, and the welts she'd decorated him with had the skin swollen and raised. She petted both cheeks as if she were smoothing a wrinkle from her clothes. Each time her hands grazed up and down his ass she felt his muscles jitter ever so slightly reflexively clenching. She looked down at the motions of her hands as she gave a soft chuckle, "No, I gathered I wasn't your first in that regard. What I want to know is…" she spread him then, and he stiffened at the instant realization of where she was going with this as Sansa's eyes moved back up to look at him as she continued, "Will I be your first? It is my due after all to take your virginity as it was yours to take mine. Wouldn't you agree, dear husband?"

Ramsay's eyes lit with a fire as an instant flush washed his face, "You… you wouldn't… that's no way for a wife to treat her husband!" He was furious and panicked at the revelation she now proposed and how she'd toyed with him. "Don't you dare!" He screamed as she brought her thumbs closer to his entrance. He twisted violently now in an attempt to remove her hands from the grip she had, but her hands held each cheek tightly not allowing him the satisfaction of escaping her.

She giggled mirthfully at his struggles until he finally could fight no more realizing she wasn't going to be knocked loose and his efforts were just serving to amuse her now.

He was shaking and panting taking in harried ragged gulps of air through clenched teeth as he steadied himself preparing for her to do what he was dreading. He had no words now as speaking to her only granted her further fuel to the fire she was stoking against his ego. She was playing with him, and he was normally quick on his feet with a clever response or action, but this situation had him at a loss feeling more vulnerable than he'd ever felt in his life. Ramsay turned away from her having gone deathly rigid as his body took on a tremor of anticipation.

She studied him finding his reluctant acceptance made her own body tingle electrically. She'd seen Ramsay as a monster through the majority of the duration she'd known him, but Sansa remembered when they'd first been introduced that she'd thought he had a nice look about him and that she could have done much worse in the looks department for arranged marriages. Of course his wickedness had erased any form of attraction she'd held for him, but now, she almost saw him in a different light as he stood bared and trembling before her. His viciousness unable to touch her, it lent her the ability just to admire his form now. He was lean and built well; and his alabaster tone and icy blue eyes contrasted by his muddy dark brown hair and was appealing to the eye she had to admit.

Sansa stared now at what he was so apprehensive of her taking, she brushed a thumb to touch him there, and he clenched involuntarily although the way his legs were spread and the leanness of his body made it impossible for him to shut her out.

Ramsay took in a sharp intake of breath swallowing hard as his mind raced. He couldn't believe Sansa was actually molesting him. He may have expected it if he'd been captured and tortured by a myriad of different people that could have taken him down, but not Sansa, never her. He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around what she was doing to him now, "You… you don't have to do this Sansa! I …I know you're obviously confused, but this isn't like you. Surely you can see that to debase yourself in such a way is unbefitting a lady?" He stated nervously in an attempt to sound reasonable chancing to look back at her now with a forced smile; it was a weak attempt, but intimidation wasn't getting him anywhere. Switching to honeyed words may give her pause to reflect this was a bad idea he thought.

Sansa sniffed, "Isn't like me? How can you possibly know what I'm like? You were never interested in knowing who I was; you were only ever interested in what you thought you could gain. And now look at you, strapped to your own torture device, stripped not only of your clothing but your title, your family, you are the last Bolton left… and even then, you're only anointed by a king's decree. Deep down, we both know you still are and always will be a bastard."

"No! Shut the fuck up! You don't know anything! I am the rightful heir to the Bolton name, and you can't take that from me!" Ramsay raged infuriated by her claim only because it struck closer to his own insecurities than he cared to admit.

"I don't need to take it from you Ramsay, your own actions have done the job for me," Sansa stated simply.

He was breathing hard now clinging to her every word as she continued to flick her thumb across the sensitive nerve endings of his anus. He scowled now fully understanding why she'd taken the time to scrub him so thoroughly earlier. Although now, even though she was making him extremely physically uncomfortable, his mind was pulled to her declaration that he really was the last of his family line. He remembered the day his mother had sent him to the Bolton manner with the news that he was a lord's son. He'd been excited, had deemed it a blessing of greatness he always suspected he'd had. To have grown up as nobody, poor and destitute, only to find that he was related to nobility had awakened a yearning to hold the Bolton name proudly. He'd taken to flaying the skin off of his enemies as a mark of his ancestors as they would have wanted the reverence he could only assume. It was his birth right, and now the words she stated struck home. If he was the last Bolton, the tradition and honor of his name would fade to just stories. The thought of being forgotten weighed on him now as he spoke, "No… you're still my wife! You're a Bolton whether you claim to be so or not! You can't abandon the fact that we were wed Sansa!" If he didn't live on, his name had to! He'd worked far too hard to earn the Bolton name for that bitch to throw it away.

"No Ramsay, I'm first and foremost a Stark. Our marriage was an absurdity that won't be acknowledged I can assure you," Sansa stated cruelly seeing that this was working Ramsay into a tizzy.

He licked his lips shaking his head no, "You can deny it all you like, but you and I both know the truth!"

She smirked at him now letting his last statement hang in the air a moment before replying, "It doesn't matter what the truth is. You and I both know full well that you nor your family name will ever hold an ounce of respect from this day forth. One day, I'll remarry, and even if I never remarry, no one would call me lady Bolton out of respect for the Stark name and myself. Face it Ramsay, nobility or not, you have nothing left to claim other than a sad ending. But, let's not dwell on that shall we? I think we can find better ways to spend our time." Sansa released her hold on him as she walked back towards the basket she'd placed on the table.

Ramsay found himself staring off unable to draw himself away from the reality of her words as much as he wanted to deny it to himself; he could not. He'd only half registered she'd walked away and returned now holding a phallic wooden looking object in her hands. His eyes were drawn to the finely crafted item now with no small amount of worry. His lips drew into a sneer as he mustered all the hate he could, "You fucking cunt!"

"I suppose that would be an apt assessment if you want to call your asshole a cunt; you are correct though, I do plan on fucking it like a cunt," as she spoke, she used one hand to hold him open while her other hand holding the carved wooden penis moved into position to do just as she'd announced.

The first night that they'd retaken Winterfell, Sansa had approached Tormund asking him if he'd whittled, and he'd told her weapons mostly. She was matter of fact about what she'd wanted and what she planned to use it for.

Tormund was a bit surprised and even amused assuring her that she'd have it by the next afternoon. The Wildling had taken pains to make sure it was quite big enough to cause Ramsay much discomfort Ramsay noted with a terrified sinking in his gut. He was afraid, and as much as he hated to show fear, he couldn't help the expression that flashed across his features as his eye widened impossibly and he gasped at the sight of it.

Sansa didn't hesitate as she pushed the wooden object against his entrance, and Ramsay tensed immediately pressing against the base of the cross as if he could move away from the object she was forcing into him.

Ramsay let out a guttural moan of dismay as he felt the tip of the wooden object enter him and the immediate burning sensation that overtook him as it did, "Ah! Sansa! Sansa! Stop! This isn't right! Please don't!" his voice was taking on a desperate edge as she continued to push into him harshly. "No!" He screamed out desperately as he let out small gasps of pain as the hard elongated object was continuously slowly pushed into his sphincter. He couldn't help but to keep glancing back at her progress feeling like she had to have fit the entirety of the enormous dildo inside of him only to see Sansa had only worked it about halfway.

The pain was overriding all other thought as Ramsay whimpered, "Sansa please! It won't fit! It won't fit!" He shuttered now completely uncaring to how he must look to her now. He had to get her to stop.

She didn't though. Sansa only looked back at him with an unimpressed raise of a brow, "I don't remember you ever giving me an ounce of consideration when you raped me countless times Ramsay, so tell me; why I should care if this hurts you? I don't care if it pains you because this isn't about you," she pushed hard shoving the remaining length up inside Ramsay as he squealed, "This is for me. Your feelings on the matter are inconsequential." As she stated this, Sansa began working the wooden dildo in and out of Ramsay much to his dismay as he cried out in pain with every thrust.

Ramsay didn't know how to take this new invasion as it sapped the last remaining vestiges of his dignity. He couldn't ignore the fact that she was taking him forcibly with a wooden cock fashioned just to rape him with. As she continued fucking him for long minutes, the full realization that he was trying so hard to shield his mind from couldn't ignore the truth of what she was doing to him any longer making him cry out in his anguish.

She was amazed to watch the dildo and feel the pressure as she forced Ramsay to accept what she gave him working the wooden dildo in and out of him. To fuck him like this made her nether regions throb. Her thighs had become moist by her own sex swelling as she rammed into him. Watching him buck and shiver calling out plaintively in an effort to get her to stop raping him only seemed to excite her more as her mind washed over in a hedonistic need; she barely heard him now as her full attention watched the way she maneuvered in and out of his quaking ass. His voice had become a weak muffled sob now, and she felt vindicated as she pushed the dildo to the hilt and came leaning into him as the power of her orgasm rocked through her.

Ramsay realized immediately that she had cum to his torment, and this broke him down further to know his weakness had given her such pleasure. It pained him greatly as he wailed, "Just kill me! Please! End this now!" Of course it wasn't lost on him how he'd driven others to this very state. He never imagined himself facing such adversity, and to have to now gave him a wide range of clarity that had never before been made apparent to him.

Ramsay had never felt empathy for another human being, but now as he crumpled under the weight of what she'd done to him, a small comprehension came to him that he'd done this to her and many others. He wouldn't ever admit to himself that he'd brought this down on himself, but the act of enduring it had enlightened him enough to know what he'd given to others as he slumped in defeat against the cross heaving in quiet sobs just wishing she'd pull the wooden contraption from inside of him. It was quite painful not to mention horribly humiliating to feel its constant presence as a reminder of the way she'd just violated him.

Sansa glanced up now admiring Ramsay's shuddering form, and a jolt of pleasure coursed through her to see him so subdued for her; she was still riding the high of climaxing, (it was her first shared with another person, even if he wasn't a willing participant, it left her feeling energized and momentarily distracted as she just enjoyed the pulse that still radiated between her legs.) She sighed contentedly. It might be cruel to keep him, but she was starting to justify that it would be fitting if only to punish Ramsay to the extent he deserved. Why should he get a release form pain and torment when he'd spent a lifetime sowing it?


	3. Over and Under

(Forgive any typos, I was trying to post this before going out for dinner, so editing was a bit rushed! Oo)

Chapter Three

Over and Under

Ramsay stared at the ceiling holding himself stiffly due to the uncomfortable manner in which Sansa had left him with that phallic wooden object still buried deeply inside him. A rope had been wrapped around his waist and between his thighs crisscrossed to secure the hold of the dildo within a wedge in its handle. She'd shoved the huge wooden cock in up to the hilt and was sure to tie it to him tightly to insure there would be no way he could expel it from himself (and he'd tried! On and off for most of the night in fact.)

The dildo was firmly set in place, and it wasn't going anywhere. Ramsay had squirmed and shifted in every capacity he'd had trying to relax enough to ease the pain and rawness he felt back there, but no matter how he tried, it was an impossible task for him to reconcile enough with his ego to allow himself to rest with that thing inside him. Just knowing she had done this to him, was still doing this to him… it was enough to keep him on edge with a burning inner contempt towards her, but his wrath was devolving more into self-pity as time lurched on. He didn't deserve this!

His muscles shook now from his weariness; he was sore all over, and his head swam from exhaustion. He had to have been tied to this contraption three days now? It was hard to tell with how many times he'd come in and out of consciousness that first night and day before Sansa had come to grace him with her company. She'd left him with the words, 'Take some time to reflect how you came to be where you are right now; I look forward to what tomorrow brings.' That was yesterday afternoon, and now it was mid-morning the next day.

Ramsay's head jerked to attention when he heard the groan of the heavy iron door announcing someone's arrival. It wasn't Sansa though, it was her bastard brother. He grimaced as a shamed heat rose through him knowing the state he was in, and the fact that Jon would clearly behold exactly what his sister had done to him.

Jon had stopped frozen a few steps into the dungeon as he'd taken in Ramsay's visage with no small amount of shock. He knew Sansa had said she wanted to have time with Ramsay before executing him, but when she'd just expressed that she now wished to forgo the execution and keep him as a prisoner for a while, he'd been more than a little surprised. She hadn't gone into details about what she'd done to him, but word had gotten back to Jon from a casual conversation through Tormund what she'd asked of him and the fact she'd also put it out there that anyone that wanted to take him bodily would be given the opportunity tonight after the sun had set. Several men were already chomping at the bit to have their way with Ramsay whether for purely sexual desire or as a bit of fitful revenge for their own losses.

The ex-Knight's watchmen had been taken aback by the news and felt a need to confront Sansa himself only to see she wasn't here, and what he did see made his stomach twist in knots. He found it hard to believe his sister, Sansa could have been capable of such torture, but it had been some time since they'd spent any real time together. Between war and everything else, life had become rather complicated.

Jon swallowed hard moving further into the room towards Ramsay who had lowered his head his muscles shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline. Jon's eyes scanned over him noting his attempts to avoid eye contact. His jaw clenched in anger as recognition that Ramsay must have been truly horrible to his sister for her to want to go to such extremes to hurt him.

Ramsay would have normally mocked the man, but in his current position he thought better of it. He was ready for this to all be over as he stated in resignation, "Have you come to put me out of my misery then?"

Jon scowled darkly moving around to face Ramsay, "You can assuredly expect to be put down like the rabid dog that you are soon enough. When was the last time you saw Sansa? I must speak to her regarding you."

A barely audible chuckle came from Ramsay; his whole body shook with it as he lifted his head to stare back at Jon. The smile that decorated his face was not one of mirth but one of madness from further cracking of an already damaged mind, "Your sister… she's quite the piece of work! You call me a rabid dog, but she's a cut from the same cloth her and I. Fitting if I'm a rabid dog that she be the rabid bitch."

Jon backhanded him, "Shut your mouth about my sister; you and her are nothing alike. I came down here with the purpose of convincing her that what she's planned for you might even be too cruel for the likes of you, but I can see that you're proving me dead wrong Ramsay. Enjoy your night." Jon gave the man one last begrudging look before he stormed away never looking back as the iron door was opened by the guard that had accompanied him, and they departed with a foreboding clang that resonated into the empty room.

Ramsay gulped in trepidation at Jon's admission, if this wasn't far too cruel for him, than what was? He began to piece it together quickly enough when about an hour later two large men moved a heavy bed frame made of iron into the room followed by a mattress. They'd regarded Ramsay curiously one even laughing at his plight muttering, "Fucking little shit's finally getting what he got coming ta him."

These men were men that he'd seen at the castle before. Servants of some sort from the blacksmith or carpenter's forts, but none that he'd given the time of day. Still, to hear them talking about him was an awful feeling that made Ramsay fume inwardly. He couldn't do anything, and to rage at them would do nothing for him. From their opinion of him, Ramsay gathered they'd just laugh at him and anger him further, so he just watched them mutely with a scowl placed firmly on his face. They fastened chains to each post, and each chain bore a cuff on the other end. The bed had no head or foot boards, and it looked rather ominous with the heavy chain manacles splayed out across the empty mattress that he knew was awaiting his arrival.

It was definitely quite apparent Sansa intended to see him further abused tonight from her brother's last words, and Ramsay was growing rather nervous that half the day was already gone and night would be here soon enough. After the two burly men left, Ramsay felt a wash of sick dread pour over him as tears welled in his eyes. He couldn't believe this was happening to him! He wanted to die from the amount of shame she'd caused him. It was too much to have to face, and having to face it was tearing at every fiber of his being.

It wasn't long after the men had left that Sansa appeared with two guards in tow.

She motioned to Ramsay, "Cut him down and place him face down on the bed. Attach the irons well, and adjust the chain length to allow him the ability to rise to his knees but no more. I want his hands pulled taught and secure, his ass is the only thing that needs to be able to raise off of that bed."

The guards only gave an affirmative nod as they moved to follow their lady's commands.

Ramsay was shaking his head no as the men cut the ropes from first his ankles and then his wrists. To be cut free made him almost collapse as the blood rushed to his limbs and head. The guards were there to catch him though and adhered a hand to each bicep as they began to pull him over and onto the awaiting mattress, "Wait. Wait!" Ramsay twisted violently, but he regretted it immediately by the aching burn he received from the massive cock still buried deep within him. He croaked, "Sansa… I've displeased you, but surely what you've done to me already should be enough! Even your brother came to see me looking for you to tell you you've gone too far! See reason!"

Sansa gave him a withering glare moving up to the bed and staring down at him as he struggled in vain for the men not to chain his hands, "Yes, Jon and I spoke. He told me that you were not very polite to the point of defaming my character. He now agrees with my course of action wholly. I suppose I have you to thank for that, so congratulations Ramsay. You've seen to it that your life is spared until I give Jon the word that I am done with you. Which I have to admit may be quite some time from now because I do enjoy your suffering more than I garnered I would. I will also say that I don't appreciate you speaking about me in such a fashion. I won't beat you for that offense… at least not this time, but you and I are going to have a heart to heart here and now, Ramsay. I'll not tolerate your ill words, and you will be strapped severely if you deign to insult me further from this point further. Are we quite clear?"

As she spoke, Ramsay was sneering hatefully at her with his teeth bared and his face contorting with malice in his fury. The guards moved on to clamp his ankles before stepping away and leaving just Sansa staring down at him with a deadpan stare. She gave him a moment to respond before she turned and moved around the bed towards the strap placed on the small table walking over to retrieve it.

Ramsay's face faltered as his eyes widened in recognition of what she would do if he didn't answer her then. He shouted quickly at her returning form, "We're clear! We're very clear!" The last thing he wanted was to be pained that much more than he already was on top of whatever he was due to face in a few hours' time.

Ramsay had reflexively cringed in response to her coming back towards him with a look that said she intended to hurt him. He could feel the way her eyes raked across him now, and the fact that he'd involuntarily reacted in such a way made bile rise in his throat as he averted his eyes shamefully to face the mattress. This wasn't happening to him! Ramsay thought miserably unable to accept the fact that Sansa was finding more ways to get him to do as she commanded. It wasn't her place to do this, it was his! She had been his wife, she belonged to him! It wasn't the other way around, it never was. That didn't make any sense! Ramsay mulled over his own thoughts trying wholly to ignore reality.

Sansa's lip twitched into a smirk to see his normally arrogant or sadistic recourse towards her clipped and replaced by affirmative obedience.

His mouth twisted from an angry snarl to an anguished frown as he pulled on his restraints testing their resolve. His arms were stretched taut almost flush to the edges of the mattress. Ramsay flexed and stretched in his new confines. With the slack on his ankles, he could pull himself up to the top of the mattress and hang his head off the edge. Ramsay pushed to lift his chest off of the mattress, but by the tight reign of where his wrists were manacled, it left him barely able to awkwardly raise up on his elbows. He was weak from the prolonged time spent tied to the cross, and outside of the torture he was seemingly due to face tonight, he was for now thankful to be lying flat on a comfortable surface.

Sansa strode back around to his side with the strap loosely dangling from her hand stating purposefully, "I want you to put your ass in the air for me."

Ramsay slowly turned his face up to her lip curling back to say something obviously nasty from the loathsome glare he affixed Sansa with. She didn't wait to hear it as she swung the strap down wickedly much to Ramsay's surprise.

His back arched in a quick snap like a striking cobra to the pain she delivered. The strap connecting on already tender flesh seared through him causing Ramsay to clench which also aggrieved him inwardly as his internal muscles clamped down on the dildo causing him further pain. He jerked giving her a look of hurt bewilderment, "I… I didn't even say anything! You're hitting me for no reason other than to hit me now!"

"You didn't have to, your face said all I needed to hear. Besides, your ass is still not in the air as you were instructed. Don't make me repeat my request or I'll do so with a heavier hand," Sansa said fixing Ramsay with a look that warned of further pain for noncompliance.

Ramsay frowned deeply as he tested pulling up slowly on one knee and then the other. He was surprising himself that he was actually doing as he was told without argument or barbed words. He was tired of hurting, and to do this for her without any dispute drained all the fight from him.

It was a sudden insight that he'd let her win, and this bit of knowledge made him burn with embarrassment and a deeper hatred of her for making him continue to sink lower than he thought he could ever possibly go. He wasn't exactly sure when this transition had occurred, but it left him feeling rather defeated and his outlook bleak.

He let out a soft groan of pain as he moved resentfully into the position she'd commanded. His ass felt so tender, and as much as he hated to ask anything of her, he rasped out in barely over a whisper, "Can you take it out now?"

"What was that Ramsay?" She heard him well enough, but she wanted him to repeat himself just because she knew it would bother him greatly to have to ask anything of her.

Ramsay clenched his teeth knowing full well what she was doing; she'd learned well from him he supposed scoffing to himself that he was partially to blame for her art of sadism now. It was almost something he could be proud of, and if it weren't happening to him, he would be. He growled out, "Will you take it out!"

"Take what out?" She toyed with him enjoying the way he tensed in aggravation at her nettling.

He sneered replying venomously, "The fucking piece of wood you've got stabbed into me!"

She tutted, "Such an angry little man you are. Ask nicely with a please, and I'll be kind to you. You won't get another offer." He could rest for the next five or six hours before the night's events she decided a small reprieve was warranted if he bowed to her wishes.

Ramsay's face flushed hesitating to give her what she wanted. He didn't want to give her any satisfaction, but he knew if he didn't let go of a small ounce of his willful pride that he'd get nowhere with her and remain in this same state. He was already going to face whatever cruelties she planned to inflict on him hours from now, he decided it was better to suck up his pride and be granted clemency now if only so he could actually get some much needed rest.

Exhaustion pulled him into a fatigue like he'd never coped with before; he was so bone weary now that even though he'd not eaten in days, the stress he'd been under made him barely register the need for it. He let out a tired sigh, "Please…" He paused pushing himself to continue grudgingly, "Please will you take your torturous device out of me." He'd gotten the words out, enunciated them clearly, so that he wouldn't be forced to repeat them, but to hear them come out of his mouth felt more than alien. This wasn't him speaking, it was a hollow rendition of himself.

Pleased with his acquiescence, Sansa dropped the strap unceremoniously between his spread legs, quietly moved closer to his hip, and slowly untied the knots she'd fastened letting the rope loosen and fall into a sag around him. She took her time unraveling the rope from around his thighs and waste enjoying the way his body flexed anxiously obviously impatient for her to take the dildo out of him, but not so impatient that he'd risk angering her and having her deny him relief. She took hold of the hilt and slowly removed it. If it had been Ramsay doing the torturing, he'd have made the person believe he would have taken it out only to shove it back in and tell the sufferer saying he'd changed his mind. Ramsay was quite thankful Sansa was not in fact that much like him.

Ramsay's whole body shook and he couldn't help the small moan that escaped his lips feeling the object finally being removed. It had been in him for so long, he almost felt empty to no longer feel its presence. He was greatly relieved though, and his body shuddered and instantly slackened upon the dildo's removal.

"Say thank you," Sansa stated offhandedly.

Ramsay didn't want to thank her, but he found the words departing his lips in a rasped melancholy exhale, "…Thank you."

She nodded approvingly, "You may lower your ass now." She moved over to the wash bucket she'd left yesterday and pulling the scrub brush from the waters, she made quick work of cleaning her new toy, drying it, and placing it back in the basket that still remained on the small table.

As Sansa was doing this, Ramsay had let his ass carefully lower onto the bed reveling in being able to feel somewhat relaxed for the first time in a long time. It was a tremendously good feeling to be lying down on a comfortable surface without pain being inflicted by one thing or another. This small act of kindness from her brought a wellspring of tears to glaze his eyes over the fact he would actually feel thankful to her for giving him so little. He found this feeling appalling and unrecognizable to his normal thought patterns. It left him feeling confused and disoriented internally.

Some of this must have exuded from his countenance because Sansa found herself tilting her head to examine his face. Ramsay wasn't crying, but he looked forlorn and on the verge of tears. He wasn't looking at her, but when his eyes did drift over to meet hers, the fire they normally blazed with seemed dulled and resigned now, and she could tell some part of him had given up.

He didn't speak, he just watched her now waiting for her to address him because he had nothing left to say. She found it was harder to hate him like this, and she almost felt guilty for what she planned to do to him, but then she reminded herself of everything he'd done, and her resolve was reaffirmed. She stared down at him now regarding him with indifference, "Sleep; you're going to need your rest for what I have in store for you tonight."

Ramsay blinked recognition that he'd heard her before letting his eyes drift away to stare off in the distance at nothing.

Sansa took one last look at him before she walked away leaving him to his thoughts.

Ramsay's ears were now sharply attuned to her shoes clipping across the floor and the heavy shifting of metal on metal chafing of the armored men as they left, and once they were gone, he found himself drained of most thoughts. He had no decisions to make or really any choice at all in regards to what was happening to him, so there really was no point in dwelling on what was to come. He would worry plenty when it came time to face it he was more than sure, but for now, all he wanted was to fade from existence for a little while. He would need his strength to endure whatever was to come, so he let his lids finally close and his mind settle enough to find sleep.

Ramsay was dead to the world and had not woken when Sansa had returned. His breathing was ragged and his face was slack. He looked peaceful she noted as she regarded that his face had started to heal. The swelling had gone down, but his face still held cuts and bruising. He had become far more recognizable than he had been after Jon had pounded his fists relentlessly into him. She was actually surprised Jon had not broken Ramsay's nose or knocked out any teeth with the ferocity he'd beaten him.

She remembered when Ramsay would sleep in her bed after he'd spent the night taking from her, he'd looked much the same as he did now when she'd shifted in the night to face him. The biggest difference was seeing him like this now no longer filled her with a fear that he would wake and take from her again before she could escape his side. He held no power over her any longer, and now she had to wonder what he had thought waking next to her before and what he would think and feel now. Sansa wondered if it was anything like the terror that she had felt, she hoped so.

As if feeling her presence at his side, Ramsay started awake. His eyes shot up to her with more clarity than he'd carried the last time they had seen one another. He didn't grace her with his characteristic cocky smile or snappy words as he blinked the fog from his mind; he only grimaced his lip curling in disdain.

"I'm glad you're finally awake. I wanted you to feel refreshed for our company," she gave a small nod towards the door, and Ramsay spun his head to where she'd motioned. A guard held the iron door open, and two men proceeded to bring in a fine chair that she pointed to a spot not far from where she was standing for them to place it.

Once they'd set it down, Sansa carefully sat looking quite proper as she leaned back comfortably, "I wanted this to be another reminder of our wedding night and several other nights we shared together," as she spoke a group of twelve men filed into the room.

Ramsay's head swiveled from her to them; the sneer falling from him face as his jaw hung open in clear understanding. He'd made Reek watch because it broke him further and showed her how much he'd broken him. Ramsay had relished the power that made him feel over both of them simultaneously. The color drained from his face as he turned wide eyes of shock back at her, "No… I never did this to you! It wasn't like that with Reek!"

"His name is Theon!" She hissed her hands grasping the arms of the chair as she jutted forward in her anger of his attempts to downplay what he had done to them. "But… since you're fond of giving your victims monikers, perhaps I'll give you one. Maybe an apt name for you after tonight will be skewer." She lifted her gaze giving a curt nod to the men that began to undress.

Sansa announced to the men as they kicked off their trousers, "The line starts here," she pointed to the front of the bed, "I'm quite weary of what Ramsay has to say, so I'd like to keep his mouth preoccupied."

She went to continue, but Ramsay raged, "I swear if any of you comes near my face with your cocks, I'll bite it off!"

Sansa scoffed, "I thought you might say something like that," she nodded to the far corner and a man appeared from the shadows holding a set of fastened rings that looked like a modified horse bit. It had a large circle in the middle, two metal connecters from the circle that led to the side pieces with leather attachments connecting to these rings on the side to fasten the contraption to his head. The man lumbered forward ready to adhere the bit to Ramsay. She'd already considered such a threat apparently.

Ramsay gasped shaking his head vigorously, "No! No! Don't!"

Two guardsmen moved up to assist the man while Ramsay did his best to resist them clamping his teeth shut tightly in no way willing to let them put that ring in his mouth.

Ramsay's chest was heaving with peeked adrenaline, a small sweat broke out across his body in a sheen from his sheer panic of all of the correlating factors before him. He snapped at the men that struggled with him now in an attempt to bite one of them, anything just to cause someone else pain to. This worked against him though as one of the guards used the fact that he'd opened his mouth to jam his finger roughly into the hinges of his jaw locking his mouth open enough where one of the other men were able to fit the ring inside while keeping their fingers intact.

Once the ring had been inserted, the men made quick work of securing it to Ramsay's head.

Ramsay rubbed furiously against the mattress and his shoulders trying to dislodge this new article of torture, but it was made apparent rather quickly that it was firmly in place. He lowered his head shuddering back tears at this new level of humiliation. She really was taking everything from him, and giving him no way to retaliate.

Seeing Ramsay had been handled, Sansa gave a short nod Ramsay's way before turning back to the partially dressed men, many of whom were stroking themselves obviously turned on by a beautiful noble woman decreeing that they do this for her and the force she would do it with, "Now that that mess is settled; let us begin then. As I was saying gentlemen, the line starts here, and you can spill your seed down his throat or in his face. Once you have, you can move behind him and have a second go. If your fancy hasn't been sated, there is a bucket of hot water I'm having brought up, you can clean yourself up and get back in line," Sansa laid these instructions out simply as if she were telling them how she wanted a room decorated over how she wanted to see Ramsay gang raped.

As she spoke, the men began to move over to where Sansa had directed, and Ramsay stiffened at their approach. The bed was high enough that unless the man was very tall, his groin was at a perfect height to shove himself down Ramsay's throat. He understood now why the bed had had no head or foot boards as the first man brought his erect member up to him quite eagerly. They all looked quite eager Ramsay noticed with a sickening horror. This was going to be a very long and unpleasant evening.

He didn't have time to think on the matter any farther as the man, who had come to stand in front of him, snaked a hand into the back of his hair lifting his head and chest painfully off the mattress causing Ramsay to gasp in reaction as his head was yanked forward towards the man's crotch.

Ramsay jerked his head to the side as a last ditch effort of defiance only to be rewarded with a sharp sting from the strap. Ramsay never realized when Sansa had snagged it from off the bed, but the blazing sting was enough to surprise him fully as he screamed out an inarticulate cry of pain through the bit.

The man having a lock on his head used the opportunity to shove his greedy cock in Ramsay's mouth ramming into him fully as Ramsay gagged wide-eyed. His body went completely rigid with hands splayed tensely at the edge of the mattress unable to do anything but try to breathe past the man's cock. The man was obviously quite worked up as he ejaculated after only a few minutes before pulling out of Ramsay's sputtering mouth.

Ramsay was still reeling from what had just happened gasping and dry heaving. If he'd had any contents in his stomach, he was sure he would have hurled from not only the awful fact that he'd just had a penis in his mouth but now also the man's taste, his cum; he could still smell his crotch from having his head rammed into the man's pelvic. He was revolted and mortified.

The bed moved behind him as he felt the man that had just violated him moving around to violate him again in a different manner. The man yanked on his hips, to get Ramsay to position his ass for him, but this was too much to ask, and Ramsay snapped screaming through the ring something incomprehensible but obviously meant as a threat at the man as he did his best to roll away from the attempts to mount him and otherwise make it difficult for the man to have his way with him.

Sansa rose motioning to the man, "Please sir, I need you to step off the bed for a moment; Ramsay needs to be shown not to be so rude to my guests," the man complied as she took the strap in hand and began swinging mercilessly down striking his very bruised flesh as Ramsay did his best to roll away.

He was only yanked back into place by one of the guards grabbing the back of his knee and securing it to the bed, so he couldn't escape her wrath. He didn't; Sansa laid lash after lash until Ramsay was beside himself with pain while his screams broke in his throat.

After several minutes of this, Sansa stopped, "Any time you do not obey you will be punished. Is that understood?"

Ramsay trembled hitching gasps and trying to recalibrate from the abuse he'd just endured.

The strap landed again harshly, "I need you to nod your head yes that you understand Ramsay," Sansa instructed cruelly.

Ramsay winced at the renewed pain, and much to his dismay found himself nodding in agreement as she'd demanded of him.

Pleased with his assent Sansa smiled, "Now that we are clear with what's expected of you; I want you on your knees for this man." She stood there ready to start punishing him again if he did not comply.

He regarded her stance and knew to disobey would lead to more pain followed by the inevitability of what was already going to proceed the pain, so he found himself once more pulling himself onto his knees. As he did so, he felt the mattress shift as the man that had been waiting his turn was ready to renew his previous efforts.

Ramsay could hear the sound of the man working his member back up to stick into him as the next man in line moved up to fuck his mouth. Ramsay winced as he felt the man's cock brush against is very sore entrance, and as he felt the man plunge into him, the man in front of him was grabbing his chin smiling lasciviously down at him. Ramsay's eyes darted over to see Sansa had resettled herself into her chair with the strap laid across her lap. She wore a satisfied smile, and as the next man started to make him gag on his cock while the other man rocked into him from behind, tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks in a steady stream. Once he'd started crying, he couldn't stop, but that didn't deter any of the men that wanted to take from him.

Sansa's nipples were hard watching them go to town on Ramsay one by one and watching him sob brokenly as they fucked him throughout the night. At one point she'd become so excited she had to resist reaching down to touch herself. This didn't stop her from eventually climaxing there in her seat as quietly as she could muster. If the men performing the task she had given them noticed, none of them made mention of it.

Sansa had left to clean herself up at one point and had sent for a tub basin to be brought up to the dungeon along with buckets of hot water to fill it.

It took until the wee hours of the morning for all the men to have their way with Ramsay. Several of the men had wanted to get back in line, and by the time they were all spent, Ramsay was covered in sweat and semen shaking uncontrollably as he heaved mournful cries at his loss of dignity and self. He hadn't even realized when it had officially ended until he felt Sansa's delicate fingers working at the bit in his mouth.

He cringed at her touch, and she knew then that he finally understood the pain he'd inflicted on her and then some. Ramsay worked his jaw once the bit was released, but he couldn't bring himself to look up at her.

Sansa motioned to the guards, "Unchain him and place him in the tub."

The guards did as asked, and Ramsay made no attempt to fight them now. He'd retreated inward letting a wash of numbness overtake him hours into the gang rape to shut out as much as he could of what was happening to him.

Being placed in the hot waters was like a balm to the aches the covered the entirety of his body. He shivered involuntarily as he splashed his face vigorously with the water to remove the disgusting feeling of all of those men using and sullying him on so many levels. He fervently scrubbed with the washcloth that had been draped over the side of the basin, but no matter how much he scrubbed his face and body, he couldn't stop from feeling dirty, feeling them on him and in him. Finally Ramsay stopped scrubbing breaking down into sobs as he covered his face in his hands.

Sansa had watched him as he went through the motions she understood well as she stated, "It never washes away. No matter how hard you scrub. It will always be with you."

Ramsay wiped at his face turning to face her with a look of pure misery as he stumbled out, "I… I'm tired. Please… end this. End me. I'm ready to die." He was devastated and broken. His mind had been shattered by the things she'd put him through to the point he didn't even have the energy to hate her anymore. All he wanted was to stop suffering at her hands.

Sansa walked closer leaning down to whisper in his ear, "But I'm not ready for you to die." She straightened then as Ramsay just stared at her blinking dumbfounded. She reached out grabbing his jaw and lifting his chin up to look her full in the face, "You are mine Ramsay, and until I decide I wish to let you go, you're going to service my needs. I will take care of you, and as long as you make me happy, I'll treat you well. You'd like that wouldn't you? For me to treat you well?"

Ramsay's face was filled with confusion trying to understand this new development and what it meant for him. He found himself numbly nodding.

Sansa's smile widened as leaned down and laid a soft kiss on his forehead before backing away, "Good." She turned back to the two guards, "I'm going to send up one of the maid's to change his sheets along with a towel and food. Once he's dried and fed, lock him back onto the bed. I may decide I wish to visit my new pet later."

Ramsay swallowed hard as he watched her go, he sank back into the water slumping in defeat still trying to comprehend what was to become of him.


	4. Down and Down Again

Chapter Four

Down and Down Again

(So I've had several requests to continue this story, from a lot of lovely reviewers (thank you very much for all the love you guys have given this fic, it excites me to want to give you a little more…) that and I do like the idea of Ramsay serving Sansa as she explores her new wants and desires! *evil grin* So, without further ado…)

Ramsay had remained unmoving in the bath waters for long minutes feeling the course of throbbing pains coming from the entirety of his body. He hurt both inside and out, and thinking on how badly he hurt and would hurt in the future if Sansa deemed it to be so crashed down upon him sending another wash of despair to swallow him whole. She was the head of the house, his sole warden, and to displease her would mean pain for him. He would have to do as he was told or suffer for it, orders given and carried out no less by a woman. The thought that this was to be his life now was dully settling into Ramsay's mind. What a melancholy end to such a great rise to power, he thought distantly.

He had done well for himself, being a bastard of a raped widow. His mother never really could care for him because of what his father, Lord Roose Bolton, had done to her. Raping her under the tree that his mother's newlywed husband sagged from a rope wasn't the best way to conceive a child. She'd petitioned Roose for some kind of assistance raising the boy, and to shut her up and send her on her way, having never really cared whether he'd had a bastard son but only whether word of it got out that he had, Roose had sent the foulest smelling of servant's… Ramsay's first Reek.

Reek and he had been inseparable, and the servant had done his best to pass on everything that a fatherless boy would need to know. Ramsay was a young boy then around the age of five, and Reek wanted to serve well. He insisted that Ramsay lord over him, groveled to be beaten for his offenses, and he showed Ramsay who he needed to be to be a true lord before he'd ever been informed that he actually was a lord. Reek had taught him to hunt; the hunts were something Ramsay had grown to love! There was no finer beast to hunt than the two legged ones Ramsay had found especially if they gave a good chase… there wasn't going to be any of that anymore. His mind faltered as he thought on what would always follow the chase; it used to fill him with a sense of nostalgia, but now, it reminded him of what he'd just endured. Suddenly the memory was sullied and forever spoiled for him. It was hard to enjoy the conquests he'd had when he was painfully reminded of his own degradation.

His mother had begun to groom Ramsay to understand that he was of noble stock, and Ramsay took this to heart. But a lord he was not, it wasn't until he'd reached puberty that he was told by his mother who his father actually was; she had grown weary of her lack of control over the boy and was willing to risk her own death to have told Ramsay so. He had been eager and full of expectations back then to meet the lord of the land, his father.

Roose was never a warm man, but he had had Ramsay taught to read and write even if the boy had never shown much care for finer etiquette and further grooming. Roose didn't care as long as the boy wasn't an illiterate moron and kept to himself. His 'amusements' though, they were a problem, and Ramsay had been awarded new 'friends' (that kept an eye on him and reported back to Roose of his escapades to help cover the boy's messy tracks.) From his status as the Bolton bastards, the new friends he'd garnered had been more than fond of his proclivities and just as engaged and encouraging to be vicious. Success was all Ramsay would allow. He'd poisoned his eldest sibling to take his place, and the king had made him a rightful heir as a Bolton, no longer was he a Snow. He'd even overthrown his father, became the sole heir to the name, and led an army to battle carrying high the banner of the flayed man. He always did take pride in that banner, and took to the act fervently after the discovery of who his father was.

He'd never thought he'd lose. He'd come too far; after all, his was a story of triumph over adversities wasn't it? Now, here he was, more than defeated. Death he realized would have been a kindness to this. Now Ramsay had to contend with the fact that not only had he lost the battle, but after everything she'd put upon him, he was slowly losing what it was to be himself. He'd never have a claim over anything now; even if by some miracle he'd managed to be set free (which he knew would never be the case.) The name Bolton meant nothing to anyone anymore other than a massacred house, there wasn't going to be anything further to attain other than Sansa's favor. To be forever a servant, a plaything, a pet, that was his destiny now. Coming to grasp this was no easy task for a man that had feared nothing; now he feared plenty.

A firm kick to the tub basin knocked Ramsay out of his reverie. The guard who had disturbed him growled, "The lady didn't say nothing about you taking yer sweet time. Scrub boy. Your food is here, your sheets have been changed, and the water's surely gone cold by now."

The water had gone cold, but Ramsay had been enjoying the freedom of movement that was granted within the tubs confines, and he wasn't overly fond of being rushed away from the only sanctuary he'd seen since he'd been defeated at the castle's gates. He definitely wasn't looking forward to being chained back down on that bed where… where that lot of nastiness had been beset on him. He sneered at the man hatefully noting him to be one of the men that had helped fasten that horrible contraption in his mouth, "The lady never gave word that I would need to rush. Leave me be!"

The guard was quick to lunge down and snatch Ramsay up by the hair as Ramsay, utterly surprised by the action, gasped and flailed halfway out of the tub. He grasped at the man's hands as the source of his immediate pain stunned and staring slack-jawed at the man. "You can't speak to us that way. You're not lord of this manner anymore boy; in fact, you're less than nothing. You've become spoils of war; you're good for nothing more than the lady's entertainment," the guard laughed cruelly as he saw the look of pain from both what he was doing to him and what he had said etched on Ramsay's face. "You always were an overinflated little cunt. To think our family ever served your house," the guard scoffed as he let loose Ramsay's hair sending Ramsay to fall back unceremoniously into the tub where a large splash of water overflowed the sides of the tub upon his impact.

Ramsay scrambled to right himself his mouth a tight line and his eyes locked on the man wary of what else he might do. The guard merely folded his arms staring down coldly at him daring Ramsay to challenge him. Ramsay worked his jaw and finally averted his eyes from the man as he lifted himself carefully from the waters. He felt so drained, wholly weakened by his treatment over the past few days both physically and mentally, but he did his best to stand firm and look assured, so as not to show this weakness, he'd shown more than enough of that for several lifetimes.

The other guard that had moved over to the scene once his mate had become physical with Ramsay; he now snatched the towel from the small chair beside him and tossed it at Ramsay.

Ramsay caught it and now ignoring the men carefully began to pat dry his hair and body; he examined the myriad of bruises and scratches that covered him and grimaced at the welts and blotches on his ass. A testament to how he'd been broken down to learn his new place. He moved over stiffly to the table, the smell of the food now awakened his senses that he was in fact starving. What he'd been given was meager, a wrench of bread and cold soup broth to dip it in. Hardly sustenance, but he was hungry, and he took to it greedily not bothering to sit (he was quite aware how sore he was there already, and the thought of humiliating himself in front of these men by them seeing him have to sit gingerly was enough for Ramsay to forgo it entirely.) He wished he'd been less impulsive and had thought to slow down with the ferocity he'd eaten now as he was quickly hauled back and manacled down to the mattress.

After testing his bonds were quite secure, the guards retired to leave Ramsay once more alone in silence. The mattress had been a relief the first time he'd been laid upon it, now it only left Ramsay with a feeling of apprehension. She'd mentioned coming back later, he only hoped it was much later and not with company.

With food in his stomach and the fresh smell of clean sheets, Ramsay finally allowed himself to relax enough to go limp on the mattress. He was still quite fatigued after only a few hours of sleep and a night of being a fuck toy to twelve men. He tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, the thought of hands upon him and their cocks invading him, taking him viciously without an ounce of mercy, swirled to the forefront of his mind.

Ramsay shivered as his eyes snapped open, and his body tensed trying to curl into a ball to find shelter from the feelings that ghosted over his body like they were still happening. It of course just made him further aware of the chains adhered to his limbs and the fact that he was in a position for it to happen all over again. These thoughts made Ramsay shudder as he broke down into heavy sobs. His cries echoed in the silence of the room, and to hear them, Ramsay was grateful that he was now alone with his misery and could suffer without further loss of pride having been made so vulnerable.

His cries were heard though, Sansa had been returning after the guards had let her know the task had been completed. She had planned to come by just to speak to him on what she'd expect from him in the coming future, but to hear him crying like this, unabated and full of pure misery, halted her at the entrance. Even throughout what she'd put him through, he had cried sure, but they had still been restrained to the best of his ability she realized now. These were not; they were mournful and full of loss, so much so Sansa's breath caught in her throat.

This was the second time she'd paused now long enough to feel a shred of guilt and maybe even a small bit of compassion for Ramsay. She hated him so much for what he'd done to her, why should she feel an ounce of pity for a man like him? He was awful, she justified, but still, what she'd made him go through had to have been terrible she reconciled.

Was she becoming a monster? No, those were Jon's words coming back to her in his concern for what she had done to him. He had told her he should be put to death, and she had forbade it. She was still the only full-fledged Stark within the keep, and although she would never say as much to Jon that her word would supersede his, they both knew by the end of the day, it was her decision. They had spoken at length before she'd gone through with it, and before, even during, the act had felt vindicated.

What was making her feel the most guilt now was the fact that seeing Ramsay so pained had made her extremely turned on. So much so that she felt heady with desire to violate him again; it was all she could practically think about since she'd done it with her wooden dildo. She'd already commissioned a special piece from a discrete source that had come to see her after news of Ramsay's big night had been announced and rumor of her wooden-made dildo had erupted through the keep. It was quite the gossip just hours after it'd been discovered. The person who had come to Sansa was a blower of glass, and had had other similar requests made, and of course wanting to ingratiate himself to the lady of the house suggested a finer implement could be made that would give her the ability to feel more 'connected' to the act.

Sansa was curious, and after the man had explained the details of the instrument, she was more than interested. He'd already made a few such items he'd explained, they tended to sell well, and she readily agreed to purchase the biggest one in stock he had. He was kind enough to offer it as a gesture of kindness and gratitude promising to deliver it sometime today. She was thrilled at the thought of using it on him, but now she decided she'd let him rest. There was such a thing as too cruel she supposed even to someone like Ramsay Bolton. She refused to feel too sorry for him, a little maybe, but that was all he was going to get from her. She'd leave him to heal until tomorrow night she decided as she turned away and strode off towards the main hall.

Ramsay did find sleep, and undisturbed through the rest of the day and night, he fell into a semi-coma where his body strained to heal itself from the abuse it had suffered. He didn't wake again until the sun had risen high in the sky the next day. He felt stiffer than he had the day before Ramsay noted when he was roused by the sound of the heavy metal door opening with a yawning creak. He was quick to peer anxiously towards the door as two guardsmen entered and a servant with a plate of food. His shoulders slackened to see they apparently were just feeding him.

The meal they fed him was a little better than the one that had proceeded it he was relieved to see. Ramsay had wondered if they had planned to give him the absolute worst accommodations from what they'd fed him yesterday; he had given the worst table scraps to Reek… Theon, it was best not to confuse the two. Sansa had appeared quite angry at his reference to his Reek, this brought an angry scowl to his face as a flush came over him. She and he had escaped Ramsay. Reek had been his plaything, it'd taken a few days' time to train Theon to become his Reek. It was amazing what taking a man's penis off could do to his level of cooperation. He coughed at the thought remembering the fact that he was in a very similar position as much as it pained him to acknowledge, if Sansa decreed it, he and Reek could in fact share the same fate.

Ramsay didn't think Sansa capable of such a thing, but then the other night he also would have never thought she would stoop to having him gang banged. It truly was disheartening to contemplate what exactly she could do to him. These thoughts made him somber as he ate in silence taking his time this time. The guards had let him walk about the room a little and relieve himself before he was chained back down. Similarly after most of the day had passed, they came back to follow a similar routine of letting him eat, walk a little and relieve himself. In between visits, he'd mostly dozed from a lack of anything better to do once his mind had run the gamut of every possible thing that could happen to him and his distress had played out every horrible scenario.

He'd been awake when she arrived that night carrying a wrapped blanket and a torch. She'd laid the rolled blanket on her fine chair before moving slowly about the room lighting the other torches in the room before setting the one in her hand into an empty sconce. Ramsay said nothing, but his eyes watched her like a wary animal. His head swiveling to follow her every movement, his body tensed and poised to react as she moved to pick up the rolled blanked and sit down in front of him.

Sansa studied his face impassively for a long moment before she spoke, "Do you remember our conversation before I left you last?"

Ramsay blinked and nodded slowly in affirmation.

"Tell me, what did I tell you?" She asked this for two reasons, one to make sure he'd not been too far gone to have fully understood her since he had been rather dazed by the events, and two because making him say it meant he had to fully admit to her and himself what it was she demanded of him.

Ramsay's eyes flitted away as his jaw worked; he knew what she wanted him to say, he'd heard it play like a broken record through his mind several times since. He couldn't not know what she wanted to hear if he tried, but to say it. Well, that was the trick wasn't it? He wasn't stupid, he knew what saying as much would give to her, but he didn't have a choice. Well, that wasn't true, he did have a choice, but it wasn't one he wanted to explore anymore. He'd already been down the road of straight defiance, insults, and overall nastiness, and all that had caused him was severe pain and humiliation. No, this was a test of will to define exactly how far he'd fallen. To say what she wanted to hear gave credence that she had beaten him, and much to his dissatisfaction even though he knew this to be the game she was playing, he stated regardless, "To please you… I… I need to please you, so you will treat me well." His heart quickened, and his eyes glazed over to hear the words come out of his own mouth. It made him feel like a traitor to himself, but, it could be worse, and he knew well now that it could if he did not do what he must to please her.

Sansa gave him a satisfied smile and a light nod, "Good; you were paying attention. I trust you rested well?"

Ramsay only regarded her with mild annoyance before taking a long pause and responding as diplomatically as he could muster, "As well as allowed. But that's not really the point of this is it? What do you want from me Sansa? Surely you've seen me suffer enough for my crimes against you? Why still must we do this dance? It's tired and worn. You've had your fun at my expense, grant me release from the mortal coil, and let yourself move on." He didn't want to die, but he also didn't want to live like this. It was a mockery of everything he'd ever wanted to be. He feared living like this more than an end to his suffering.

She lifted a brow, "This again? What's becoming tired and worn is this conversation; we already discussed your fate earlier. You will not die until I've decided my use for you is over. I don't want to hear any more of this 'poor me, I want to die' drivel. Understood?"

Ramsay had reeled back at her words as if she'd slapped him in the face, but knowing she wanted an answer he replied with a barely contained snarl, "Yes my lady. As you wish."

She was getting under his skin, and Sansa was enjoying it immensely not as much as she was about to enjoy herself though. She stood laying the rolled blanket in her lap back on the chair now as she began unfastening the buttons on her wrists.

This of course struck a chord of curiosity in Ramsay as he watched her continue to undo button and clasp. She stared at him throughout, watching him with an expressionless face. He was awestruck as she disrobed, and he couldn't help but to grow slightly hard. Despite what she'd done to him, she was still a very beautiful woman. He'd enjoyed taking her, and his thoughts were muddled to take her in now as separate triggers now ran through his brain in correlation to who she'd been before and who she was now to him. He supposed she was doing this now to sexually frustrate him. Of all the tortures she could conceive, this wasn't so bad Ramsay thought.

Sansa smiled now, but her smile reflected something else, it was brazen like she knew something he didn't, "Did you like that Ramsay? I remember how much you always liked to see me take my clothes off."

Her voice was harsh as she spoke, and Ramsay's eyes widened unsure how to respond. Of course he'd liked to see her take her clothes off, what man wouldn't? He had to be careful, she was giving him a very dark look now, and the hard on he'd had deflated under that dangerous stare. He responded carefully, "Yes?"

She smiled again, "Good. I want you to remember me like this," she had picked up the rolled blanket now and was unraveling it to reveal a thick glassed two-prong dildo. It looked like a deformed letter 'J,' the bottom of the 'J' was a bulb the shape of a large egg, and the other half was a thick elongated cylinder. Sansa placed her foot on the arm of the chair and inserted the egg-shaped end into herself with a small gasp. Her eyes fluttered as her vagina held the object neatly from her like a protruding penis. Sansa felt the weight of the instrument pull lightly on her insides, and when she touched the other end, she could sense the movement deep inside herself as if it were an extension. Pulling lightly on the dildo rubbed against her clit, and she let out a soft intake of breath.

Ramsay watched her slack-jawed. She looked incredibly sexy, confident, and most definitely aroused. If he didn't know what she'd planned to do with her new toy, he probably would have also been aroused. He licked his lips as a sinking feeling moved into the pit of his stomach, "Sansa… please. I… please don't," he couldn't even finish speaking the words as he thought them.

She stared down at him as she stroked on the phallic end of the dildo enjoying the pull and how it pressed against her clit, "You don't what Ramsay? You don't want this? I told you I was going to treat you well, it's either this, or we can have another party. Which would you prefer Ramsay?"

Ramsay's breath quickened as he bit his lip his brow etched in worry for the choices she gave him. One way or another, he was going to get fucked tonight, and he didn't want it to be like it had with all those men ever again. He turned away shuddering as he did his best not to cry. His voice still cracked as he begged her now, "Sansa, I …I'm still so very sore," he hated the way he sounded right now, weakness was all he felt, "Please give me a reprieve… to heal."

She leaned in now close to his ear as she spoke barely over a whisper, "I asked that of you once; do you remember what you told me? I do. You told me that I'd get worn into it, and that the best way to get used to it was to take it and keep taking it."

He did remember, and now he trembled as a small stifled sob escaped his lips.

He had no response to that, and Sansa stood once more addressing him firmly, "So what's it going to be Ramsay. Tell me, do you want my kindness or my ire?"

He whimpered now brokenly, "Your kindness."

She moved in front of him now staring down with a small frown, "Good choice. My next kindness is to put this in your mouth and wet it well unless you want me to stick it in you dry."

Ramsay shook with self-pity now staring at the mattress, so he didn't have to see what she was presenting to him. It was larger than the wooden one he'd already affirmed.

Sansa growled, "Don't hesitate Ramsay, I've already been delayed long enough by your indecision. I'm going to give you to the count of three, and if my glass cock isn't in your mouth, it's going to go straight in your ass. 1… 2…"

Much to Ramsay's horror, before three he had brought his face up and opened his mouth for her to take.

Sansa moistened at the display grabbing his hair and shoving his face down on her member. Her nipples hardened hearing him gag letting out a muffled cry of surprise. She could feel the pressure pulling on her insides and looking into his watery blue eyes made her let out a small moan. He looked so good with her forcing herself down his throat. That look of desperation filled her with a tremor; she'd already been so worked up when she'd received her little glass gift that the culmination of all the feelings and sights she was seeing caused her to orgasm. She let out a cry of ecstasy watching as her cum that she'd released dripped in a small rivulet down the dildo to his awaiting lips. She sighed contentedly as he stared back in utter shock still gagging and red faced.

Sansa withdrew, and Ramsay coughed and heaved violently taking air in big gulps. He dully felt her coming up around beside him and dragging her fingertips gently down his back until she made it to his ass. Her hand grabbed the cheek roughly, possessively, and Ramsay instantly went rigid.

He'd stopped retching by the time she's made it back around behind him and felt the all too familiar feeling of the mattress shifting as she climbed in between his legs. He whined now unable not to sound like a miserable wretch, "No! Please not now Sansa! Please!" Ramsay's voice shook and he let out inarticulate sounds of panic as felt her knees pressing at the inside of his thighs to get him to spread his legs further apart.

Sansa didn't deign to respond to him noting his skin had broken out in small dots of perspiration. She ran her hands up his thighs with a delicate hand grabbing on his hips to pull him up as she stated wispily, "Up Ramsay."

He could feel her palms were moist, and her fingers grabbed at him hungrily. It was a bad sign; he knew then that she really was getting off to raping him. It meant that she'd likely not grow bored of it for a while. He swallowed hard debating for a moment if he should resist her, but ultimately he decided it might lead to her having him raped by several men again. He kept telling himself as he lifted his hips and felt her bring the tip of the dildo up against his clenched puckering hole that this was the better alternative. Of course as she easily slid inside of him he stiffened letting out a small cry of pain as he was ripped into with an incredible burning sensation. He was still quite swollen, and he cried out, "Ow! Sansa! Ow! Ow!"

If he'd expected that she'd stop due to his plea, Ramsay was sorely mistaken. Sansa was fascinated as she pulled him apart to see her member pushing into him. As she went deeper, the pressure against the dildo also pushed against her vaginal walls. It was a large dildo, wide and long, so it was slow going working into him fully, and Ramsay for his part was panting and squirming uncomfortably (which only seemed to excite her more Sansa found.) The last few inches seemed to go in more easily as if his ass finally accepted her. She groaned in satisfaction enjoying the feeling of Ramsay's heat flush against her groin.

Sansa rocked, and Ramsay let out a small gasp. Her clit enlarged listening to the small sounds he made now. He was trying so hard to remain quiet. She rocked harder, and his shoulders tensed shaking under the strain. She grabbed his hips now pulling on him roughly; it was time to take him now long and hard she thought as she let the dildo slide almost to the tip and slammed back into him.

Ramsay did cry out loudly when Sansa did this unable to squelch the way it made him feel. She was really working him over now as she rapidly rammed in and out of him far more harshly than many of the men had taken him the night before. She was merciless as she slammed his ass back down on her cock over and over again; her hair dragged across his back and she grunted becoming more erratic in the manner she fucked him the closer she came to climaxing. By the time she did cum, Sansa had been laying full on his back, arms wrapped around his shoulders as she pumped furiously into him. He could feel how hard her nipples were as they trailed across his back both of them sliding in perspiration.

Sansa moaned as she grew closer to climaxing feeling the pressure build inside of her and throb out of her clit as she collapsed on top of Ramsay breathing heavily. She sighed contentedly, "That was… very nice."

Ramsay didn't speak, but she could hear him sniffling as his body shivered like he was cold.

She gazed at the back of his head lazily reaching up grab a handful of his hair. She didn't yank his head back, but squeezed roughly a few times before drawing her hand down the back of his neck. She supposed for their first time she'd be kind to him. After all, he did just get fucked from sun down until dawn the night before. She slowly slid backwards and retracted the dildo from him. He let out a cute little whimper as she did so, and for a moment, she had second thoughts about just one more time, but no, seeing him shaking like he was made her know he'd had enough for tonight. Unlike him, she wasn't going to force herself on him multiple times when he was hurting. Just the one time tonight she sighed sadly pulling the glass bulb out of herself as she worked her way backwards to stand once more although she found her legs felt like jelly and she was in dire need of a bath.

Ramsay gulped back miserable tears as he listened to her pad over to the wash bucket to clean her toy. His head swam in a haze as she moved about. He barely registered her anymore as he sank into himself hitching broken sobs at the way she had made him feel. His eyes were teared over when she'd stopped in front of him.

She dressed wrapping the glass dildo back into the rolled towel. She turned to regard him dropping to her knees beside him. There was that feeling of guilt niggling at her again.

Ramsay's head was bowed, and his face was in the mattress as he cried. His hands balled in fists as a display of the inner turmoil he felt. He wanted so badly for her to just leave him, the feeling of her eyes looking at him with pity now made him cringe in self-loathing. His voice broke, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry for what I did to you."

Sansa froze, Ramsay had never said a sincere apology that wasn't coaxed out of him since she'd known him. She studied him a moment before reaching out a hand and laying it gently on top of his, "Ramsay," he cried harder as response to her touch, "Ramsay, look at me Ramsay."

He was afraid to disobey her now, and this only made his shoulders shudder with another sob as he wearily lifted his head. His eyes were streaked with tears, and his mouth was drawn down in anguished frown. His hair was tussled whipped around in a matted array on his face.

Sansa reached out her other hand tentatively taking a finger to gently remove the hairs that hung in his eyes. He stared at her intensely now; her face was unreadable as her eyes moved across his face. She rested her hand on the side of his face as she stated, "I accept your apology."

Ramsay closed his eyes as he shook once more, "Thank you," he croaked. He wasn't sure if it was from relief she'd accepted his apology or a sense of unburdening within himself for a sea of guilt he'd never before had the conscious to feel, but he was grateful to hear her say those words to him.


	5. Twisted in All Directions

This chapter is pretty much all about character development guys, so apologies in advance that there's nothing 'dirty' in this chapter ;) LOL! I hope you still enjoy! :P

Chapter Five

Twisted in All Directions

"And what exactly do you plan to do with him now, Sansa?" Jon paced in the small archway of the study looking rather vexed at his sister who rocked slowly at the hearth staring into the fire seemingly unconcerned.

Sansa had been wondering the same thing. Originally she'd planned to get her revenge and put Ramsay down, but the past week had opened her eyes to many more possibilities. Ramsay's eyes, staring back at her last night still haunted her now. She'd left him shortly after violating him only to come back long enough to place a furred blanket over him. It was winter, and the dungeon was getting rather cold.

Ramsay had been shivering pulled in on himself as much as his restraints had allowed, and when she'd returned, he had shivered from something deeper than the cold he'd felt only glancing at her furtively before tucking his face back into his shoulder. He had been crying, silently to himself to unload the misery he felt in what he had hoped to be private isolation as his lingering pride, or the shreds of what was left of it, still made it difficult to let Sansa or anyone for that matter see this side of him. After everything that had transpired between them, to see her now sent his stomach to tie in knots. The realization made Ramsay feel ill; there was no denying that he was most definitely afraid of her now.

Sansa had sensed this too. It made her feel worse than she had after he'd broken down in front of her in an obvious snap of will from the things she'd done to him accompanied by his own guilt that she'd dragged out of him. She'd wanted to get into his head, and she'd finally done so, but what was revealed left her feeling a cold numbness to prickle through her.

Her resolve to hate him faltered under his impassioned inner torment; it leaked out of the cracks of his desperate attempts to hide baring that he, Ramsay, did in fact have a vulnerable side, and she'd somehow tapped into it. She'd not only tapped into it, she was ripping him apart like he'd done Theon. There was a level of satisfaction that she'd reached that deep within him to pull out something humanizing when Ramsay had done nothing but proudly work to display what a monster he could be for all to observe. He wasn't proud now; in fact she'd managed to wipe his smugness off his face the first day, and she hadn't seen him smile since.

Sansa felt the need to comfort him now, such an alien gesture to a man that had harmed her repeatedly with malicious intent, but the furs still shook with Ramsay's attempts to contain himself enough not to make any sound. Small sniffs still could be heard though, and Sansa frowned feeling her own inner turmoil build within her. Maybe Jon was right; maybe she was acting like a monster. She found herself dropping down to kneel in front of him once more, and Ramsay reflexively trembled.

The action sent an immediate spike of disgust through Ramsay that 'she' had produced this response in him, and his eyes glazed over once more as memories of Reek passed through his mind. Such shudders from Reek had elicited a yearning to see them again and again Ramsay remembered. They reminded him that Reek knew he belonged to him and him alone, and now Ramsay wondered if Sansa garnered the same level of joy from him now. The thought of her seeing him in such a light caused the tears standing in his eyes to fall once more, as if he couldn't be more pathetic Ramsay thought hatefully at the renewed wetness on his face.

"Are you hungry or thirsty, Ramsay?" Sansa offered evenly.

Her words caught Ramsay's attention, he was both hungry and thirsty, but he was now suspicious this would be a trick of some sort to introduce some other form of torture upon him. His mouth worked warring dually with whether or not he wanted to answer. His pride told him to remain silent, but another part, newly blossomed, feared not answering leading to some form of other torture.

Ramsay swallowed hard grimacing as he justified to himself that answering her was worth avoiding at least one more unknown torture. He shifted his head off of the mattress hovering above it, but Ramsay did not look at her; he was too embarrassed by the emotional state he was in. He spoke in barely over a whisper, "Yes."

Sansa studied him a moment longer before she stood and moved to and out the door without another word.

Hearing the swish of the fabric of her dress swivel away, Ramsay chanced a glance up to watch her go. He couldn't help but wonder why she was being so nice to him. It was preferred to indifference or a cold calculating glare that spoke of a simmering wish to see him in anguish. These remembered reflections of her made Ramsay quake with a wretched cut to his insides as if his innards shriveled at the thought of the gesture alone. She was conditioning him to thoroughly fear her wrath, and much to his disdain, Ramsay couldn't help but to follow the direction she pushed him towards. There really was no detour to the path she chose for him he'd grasped as much earlier on.

Long minutes passed, close to an hour, and Ramsay had wanly assumed that the torture of Sansa's last request was to make him desire what she'd offered, but in the end to never return leaving him hungrier than before she'd offered. He'd accepted as much and was almost surprised to hear her approach and enter to the now dimly lit dungeon. The torches would go out on their own in another hour or so, and it painted the dungeon in a softer glow than Ramsay had ever remembered. Not that he'd really paid much attention to the ambiance before, but with little else to whittle away his time with trapped within these four walls, the mind found it had to occupy itself with something.

His tears had dried, and he could face her as he lifted his face now with wide curious eyes. Those icy blue irises jerked to and fro across the expanse of the silver covered tray Sansa carried. A touch of nervousness was betrayed in his sudden jerky movements as she settled herself and the tray on the floor and lifted the lid.

Sansa had watched his face seeing that even in this way that Ramsay expected her to hurt him and seemed surprised her intentions were genuine. He stared longingly at the tray of food flitting his eyes up to her looking not unlike a begging dog under the table praying to be fed table scraps. She'd brought him a hearty stew that brewed in the cauldron from earlier in the night. The embers had drawn low, but there was plenty within the big pot to still feed a good sixty mouths in the earliest hours of morning. She'd also brought him a draught of apple cider, and she lifted it now to his lips.

Ramsay only hesitated a moment before drinking heartily in impulsive gulps from the mug presented to him. If it be poisoned than good riddance he thought more unafraid of a quick and mostly painless end now more than ever. He doubted Sansa was willing to ever make it that easy for him though. Finally having his fill of the large mug, he lifted his head away with a satisfied gust of breath closing his eyes and just enjoying the feeling of being satiated in that way. He blinked refocusing to see she watched him now rather intently, and his eyes felt the need to fall away, "Thank you, my lady," Ramsay forced in a voice that sounded far too weak for his own ears to hear.

His bashfulness now sent a surge of desire through her Sansa found as she settled the cup back on the tray and picked up the stew. She pulled a small spoonful of the chunky matter up to meet his lips, and Ramsay gingerly opened his mouth to take in the bite. Of course, he couldn't help a small wince at the reminder of just hours before how he'd opened his mouth for her in a much different manner. His jaw still ached from such treatment; a flush of shame burned his cheeks now, and he felt choked momentarily by his own mental vision as his mouth contorted in repulsion.

Sansa's brow furrowed as she asked curiously, "Is there something the matter with the food?"

Ramsay's eyes were quick to shoot up to her as he shook his head no vigorously, "It's fine my lady, delicious even!" His heart rate quickened; the last thing he wanted was for her to stop feeding it to him.

She took in his desperation for her to continue before nodding slowly moving back to the task. Her face remained expressionless, and as she continued to feed him, she saw he'd finally seemed to let his guard down to steel occasional looks in her direction; although, his eyes never lingered long.

He'd always looked at her with a hint that he'd known something she hadn't or with assurance that whatever he had planned to say to her would paint him in a glorious light. Ramsay had so much liked to brag. Hours in their private chambers after the deed of nightly raping had been done he'd mutter on hateful opinions of the Frays especially regarding his pregnant cow of a stepmother while he tossed back goblet of wine after goblet of wine in his obvious jealousy and fear of being usurped.

Ramsay always had something to say, but now he had nothing to offer. No venomous threats or grand schemes to embellish to her, no smug retorts or vile lecherous insinuations that would lead to further assault to her person; the silence in that way was a relief. In fact, his face didn't even look the same to her now without carrying a shred of its normal fierceness and anger she'd grown accustomed to seeing. It had been akin to looking in the eyes of a rabid Jackal; now his face looked soft and he carried an air that showed he was unsure of himself. He was being held accountable he knew, and anything he deigned to say could have dire consequences. Yes, she'd definitely taken more than his anal virginity she was most certain now. There was something deeply satisfying to know she'd filtered him in such a way that he wouldn't dare to speak to her in a disagreeable manner ever again without fear of retribution.

The bowl was finished in silence, and Sansa placed it on the tray and lifted the mug for Ramsay to finish the last of its contents. His eyes became wary once more trying to ascertain what would follow this unexpected kindness. Did she plan to make him 'earn' the favor she'd granted? He may have done as much to one of his victims, toying with their emotions was often the fastest way to break a victim, Ramsay found. He had been very good at breaking people and making them scream; Sansa had proven she apparently had no problem in that department either. There were so many questions now that he wanted to have answers to, but Ramsay's tongue lay still, leaden in his mouth for the things he feared to ask and other things he simply didn't want to hear.

Instead, Ramsay bowed his head stating with no lack of the gratitude he felt, "Thank you for the meal, lady Sansa." He hoped his appreciation would be awarded with future treatment like this. The fact that he looked forward to getting fed well as being a kindness wasn't lost on Ramsay either, but if he had to be honest with himself, it was one of the best things he could come to hope for in his current standing. How very far he had fallen.

Sansa just watched him impassively now, and Ramsay felt meek under her gaze unable not to remember what she'd done to him and would likely do again; after all, she had thoroughly enjoyed herself at his expense. He'd felt her desire in the pants she heaved on the back of his neck and the muscle spasms her thighs had made when his own thighs had been spread to her shaking against her with every greedy thrust she'd lunged into him. The softness of her skin and the feel of her femininity did nothing to cut out the ruthlessness in the way she'd fucked him. It made him feel small in her presence now.

His jaw tightened as Ramsay's eyes danced back and forth in obvious thought; Sansa asked him curtly then, "You look as if you have something you'd like to say to me. Spit it out Ramsay."

Ramsay's eyes lifted suddenly depicting uncertainty as his mouth worked trying hard to say what was plaguing his mind, "What …what will you do with me now?"

She raised an eyebrow thinking, 'anything I want,' and this thought sent a chill down her spine both from lust and self-disgust that she couldn't help mildly regarding him as an object even now. She took in a deep breath, "You're going to serve me. I want to make use of you still. Perhaps I'll just keep you in my chambers to satisfy my needs as I need them met," this elicited a balk from Ramsay that she would be so forthcoming to him with such lascivious intent, but he supposed he should expect no less. She seemed to relish turning much of his own past mannerisms back on him. Ramsay had often enjoyed the quiet unwelcomed acceptance in her eyes when he'd whispered what he'd planned to do to her once he'd brought her back to their personal chambers for the night. She had dreaded his advances, but she'd had no place to deny him his pleasures as his wife, and now he in turn had no place to deny her.

For her to point it out to him in this way though still thoroughly shamed him, and he found he could once more no longer keep eye contact as he let out a small cough and the heat in face spread clear to his ears. She was getting good at embarrassing him, and from the small grin that swept across her face, he knew she liked that too.

"Tell me Ramsay, how did you expect this to all end?" She asked, but her tone was mocking now.

Ramsay swallowed hard as he muttered much deflated, "Not like this…" he didn't elaborate feeling lost in the statement as it was.

"No, I imagine not," Sansa quipped, "But you had stated on the battlefield that you'd missed me terribly, and now here we are back together again. Does that statement of yours not still hold true?" She knew she was poking a wound now, but she didn't care. He'd meant to torment her then, and she'd meant the same now.

Ramsay found himself drawing his eyes back up to meet her stony expression as his mind focused on memories of the parlay. He found the last ounce of pride he could muster as he stated lamely, "You'd also told me I'd die that day, but I suppose we both were less than honest."

Sansa scoffed raising from the ground with the tray in hand, "You did die that day Ramsay; you just haven't realized it yet."

His mouth parted, and the look of disbelief that had taken over his features shifted into a look of regret realizing that her words, although harsh, had rung too true. The man he was now was certainly not the man that had been on the battlefield that day; he never would be that man again. She had changed him irreparably.

Her mouth turned into a sneer seeing him feeling sorry for himself for no longer being the monster she knew, "Do not mourn for such a loss, Ramsay. The world never needed or wanted that side of you." Her head tilted to the side slightly as a surge of inner anger twisted her words to make him visibly squirm now, "You will be of much use though, I'll make sure of it, if only to warm my bed, so that I can explore you more fitfully. I must admit I was a bit excited tonight, more excited than I thought I'd ever feel to share a bed with you. You should be pleased that you have created such a fervor in your wife. Doesn't this please you, my dear husband?"

Her words continued to send cold waves of discomfort to pulse through him as imagery of what she said to him coupled with the pain he was still suffering from correlated to form an angst-ridden frown to play across his lips. Did she actually expect an answer? His eyes had avoided Sansa as she hammered away further at the ravaged remains of his ego, and as quiet followed, he left the question to hang in the air praying it was rhetorical in nature.

Sansa set the tray down taking a step closer, and Ramsay found himself shrinking back slightly and cringing as she ran her free hand through his hair, "It pleases me, and that's all that really matters now." Her fingers grasped at his scalp moving across the top of his head, the touch was not coarse though, it was gentle, and he found the now tender caress evoked a turmoil of emotion within him as he shuttered and unbidden tears welled in his eyes and fell seamlessly down the sides of his face.

Ramsay would have preferred that she had been vengeful now, it would allow for him to have rallied a firm hatred against her ministrations, but Ramsay hadn't had many gentle touches ever in his life. His mother had always held him at a distance because of the pain he'd represented being born to begin with. To have Sansa give him even this much sent a discord through his being that made him crave it more, "I will please you, my lady," he found himself saying quite brokenly.

She hadn't expected this response from him Sansa realized as something inside her ached at his reaction. She found herself cupping the sides of his face to lift his gaze to her; she had to know his true intensions. Was he playing a trick? What she saw there looked fiercely loyal, but that wasn't to say Ramsay wasn't a masterful liar, even if that were the case, that was not the feeling she garnered from him now. What she felt now was a sense of longing, he did want to please her, and he would.

Sansa released her hold, and Ramsay closed his eyes turning his face into her retreating palm. She hesitated a moment to caress him further, and he sighed contentedly his hot breath grazing her wrist. This sprang all new urges in her that she'd never felt for the man, and Sansa now felt the need to retreat without further statement as she grabbed the tray from the chair and turned to leave.

She peered back once as she opened the heavy metal door, and his eyes held her captive for a moment with a look that spoke that he might in fact actually miss her.

That had been several hours ago. Sansa had found it hard to sleep, and busied herself for much of the early morning and afternoon helping tend to the wounded. She retreated to the study to think now, and her thoughts continuously went back to Ramsay. She felt so very confused now; could she actually find it in herself to care about a man as brutal as Ramsay Bolton? By all rights she should hate him wholly, but some small part of her wanted a little more of him now than she'd taken, and if the look he'd given her before they'd parted ways meant anything, she had sensed he'd be willing to give it to her.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the sound of heavy boots met the study's doorframe. It was Jon, and he wore a grave expression.

Sansa went to rise, and Jon held up a hand, "There's no need. I can't stay long. I came to ask you if you've sated your revenge on that poor bastard yet, so we can give him the end he's got coming."

"There isn't going to be an execution," Sansa stated flatly.

"And what exactly do you plan to do with him now, Sansa?" Jon paced in the small archway of the study looking rather vexed at his sister who rocked slowly at the hearth staring into the fire seemingly unconcerned.

Sansa stated in a matter of fact tone, "I'm going to keep him. I want Ramsay to serve me as his punishment. I still think that death is far too good for him; let him suffer the fate he gave Theon Greyjoy."

Jon's lips parted as he regarded her in utter surprise quite astounded that she would suggest as much for the likes of Ramsay Bolton, "Sansa… please listen to me. You're grieving over the atrocities this man has caused you and our family, but don't you think it's time to move on? Let the man swing, and be done with him. This is not what mother and father would have wanted. Besides, he's our enemy, we'd never be able to trust him."

Sansa did rise from her chair then a heat blossoming through her, "Not what mother and father would have wanted? Did you forget one of our most trusted servants had been a Wildling captured for her crimes and sentenced in the same fashion? I didn't see mother and father batting an eye to the sentence, but they probably would have to see the North ride with an army of Wildlings. Do not throw their names in on this decision, Jon, times have changed, and so have we!"

Jon's eyes softened as he moved closer to take one of her hands in both of his, "If this is what you want, I will not stand in your way, but do know every minute that Ramsay Bolton breathes, a will always be wary. He's a dangerous man, Sansa, I hope you know full the risks you take."

She regarded Jon carefully giving a small nod, "I do. I know him better than most, and I've seen what he's capable of. Trust I'll not take my eyes from him for one second."

Jon took in a deep inhale pulling her into a hug, "Alright. He lives, but I swear if that bastard hurts you or anyone else, I'll cut off his balls and feed them to his man-eating dogs while he watches!"

Sansa appreciated that Jon gave her this much, she had been afraid he would take action 'for her' regarding Ramsay, but he still respected her enough to seek her council on the matter. She hoped the choice she was making wouldn't come back to haunt her.


	6. A New Path

(You guys have been so good to me with all your reviews! Thank you so much! It really does mean a lot to me! I am far more motivated to write! LOL! This chapter leaves off on a cliff hanger (sort of) but, I will try to update quickly so as not to leaving you hanging I promise! XD)

Chapter Six

A New Path

Ramsay could still feel her hand stroking his scalp and caressing his face long after he'd watched Sansa leave. The sensation sent a flutter through him of longing and fear; he didn't understand why, but he wanted so badly for her to touch him again. He should carry a burning soul rendering hatred towards her for what he'd endured by her command, but all he could think about was the gentleness Sansa had treated him with before she had last departed. To touch him with care; Ramsay had sensed it far greater than Sansa had even realized she was portraying, but to a person who had felt so very little in the ways of such attentions, especially now that he was a broken wretch of what he'd once been, the fact that she'd imparted as much at all to him seared Ramsay to his core.

Even Miranda had never been the type to afford him tenderness, theirs was a relationship of hunger and want. They had fucked like animals in heat, biting and scratching, until Ramsay eventually roughly took Miranda in whatever way his lust required. Miranda had never minded, and as such, she'd never bored Ramsay enough to hurt her for his other amusements, at least not much anyway. She'd fed into whatever desires he'd placed on her like an empty shelled mirror just waiting to reflect back anything Ramsay had projected. In this way, he'd never been able to respect Miranda, he had been fond of her though. He'd known her since he'd been a young boy; in fact, many of his dogs he'd gotten from her father's litters. She'd never shown fear when dealing with Ramsay, and that was the only reason he'd not hunted her down for sport long ago. Still, there was no love lost when he'd found her crumpled body in the courtyard. All Ramsay had felt was irritation that she was no longer around to amuse him further. It wasn't easy to find others that enjoyed his hobbies like she had after all.

What Sansa had instilled in him now was wholly different. Ramsay had never respected a woman in his life, save his mother whom he'd never actually respected and instead felt a mix of indifference and very little gratitude towards for never being an active role in his life. His mother afforded the same indifference to Ramsay outside of preening him enough to approach his father; of course such embellishment served a purpose mostly to rid herself of the burden he'd caused upon her own life. Reek had already worked to twist the boy in such a way that she was more than happy to send him packing. His mother had never wanted Ramsay; all he was to her was a reminder of everything that had been taken from her the day he had been conceived, a point that she could never fully move on from until he was out of her life. Ramsay had never looked back.

As he'd become a man, women had been his play things, they were second class citizens, and he'd wanted to hurt them to make up for the anger he felt in his own life. To be forced to respect one now only served to twist Ramsay's mind further in its already broken state. Sansa had made him feel pain, she'd made him feel guilt, and now she was making him feel something else. It stirred in him, a tumultuous wave of emotion. It was needy and unbidden; he wanted her comfort, he craved it because it evoked something else much deeper within him that had been scarred and tucked away too afraid to see the light of day. It was easier to feel nothing at all, and those walls had been painstakingly built so long ago to protect him from feeling anything for anyone, but Sansa had knocked loose his resolve, tore down his pride, and left him bared both physically and mentally to her, and it left Ramsay fragmented now in the wake of his own thoughts ripped asunder by her ministrations. She was molding him to be hers, and Ramsay would please her if only so that she would grace him with another tender touch. Her tenderness felt so much better than the pain that came from her anger. He didn't want her anger, and these choices really were the only two options Ramsay had.

These thoughts warred within him as small parts of his past-self told Ramsay not to yield to these new emotions he was garnering towards Sansa, but Ramsay really had nothing left to stand for, he was nothing except what Sansa told him he was to her. The question he'd asked Reek, "Do you love me Reek?" It had been stated as a cruel taunt, but the fearful dispirited eyes that locked on his had responded in earnest, "Yes, of course my lord!" He'd turned Theon into his Reek; Ramsay had relished that power over the man. It had been easy to rub it in his face and force Theon to no longer even consider himself to be who he'd once been, and now Ramsay's own mind was muddled with fear from the realization that he was starting to unwillingly take on the same mentality.

He let go a mournful wail rocking impotently as he heaved a shaking sob. Ramsay had always assumed Reek had only truly been terrified of him, and this was the reason why he'd obeyed Ramsay so thoroughly, recognition now occurred within him that perhaps Reek wasn't as afraid of him as Ramsay had initially assumed; perhaps coupled with that fear that Reek had felt was also a need to atone and feel loved by the one that had made him fear all else. It was true that such dominance was overriding his senses Ramsay found. He had ascertained long ago that his only mercy would be granted at Sansa's hand, even if that mercy was death, and so, the mind in a desperate attempt to make sense of the horrible situation it found itself in now searched for a way out, and Sansa's affection was all it grasped to be a suitable reward.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen," a familiar voice chimed from the doorway as the heavy door yawned a protest.

Ramsay recognized it immediately to be Lord Petyr Baelish and immediately quelled any noise that escaped his throat wholly flushed with embarrassment; he ducked his head so as not to face him.

Petyr let go a mirthful snort, "Don't stop on my account boy; you've nothing to hide. You're quite the talk of the keep actually. In fact you may have seen more action the night before than some of my star whores in King's Landing I hear."

Ramsay visibly bristled bringing his eyes up to glare at Lord Baelish as he snarled, "You're a traitorous dog; if I were you, I'd watch my tongue as there are always secrets to spill that might land you in a grievous state of your own."

Petyr's eyes narrowed a moment before a wicked grin crossed his face. He casually leaned down bringing his face within meters of Ramsay. Petyr's eyes glowed with an inner rage, "What was is you said on the wall of the castle… ah yes, you gave me your word. You said to me then that you'd never hurt her, and well, we have all been made well aware the standing your word now. Who do you think would believe a word that came out of your lying bastard mouth?"

Ramsay swallowed hard working his jaw angrily; it was true, no one would believe him. Lord Baelish was smiling cruelly down at him now as he pulled a dagger from his side and Ramsay flinched eyes widening in shock.

He would have slit Ramsay's throat then and there to put an end to him, but Sansa's voice rang out coldly as the dungeon door was opened by one of her guards, "Lord Baelish! What are you doing?"

Petyr stiffened standing and turning to face her as he worked to regain his composure. His eyes were unable not to drift down to the bundled blanket in her arms; he'd heard what lurked inside. Petyr heard everything. He smirked, "Lady Sansa, I… I merely wished to see if the rumors were true."

Sansa stared at him coolly; she'd never trust this man again, but he had brought the Knights of the Vale to fight at their side, so she held her suspicions to herself as she leveled a glare at Lord Baelish, "So now you've seen; they are true. I ask you now; why were you unsheathing your dagger to a chained man? Surely he could have been of no threat."

Petyr's mouth worked a moment a wash of uneasiness passing over him before he replied, "I was about to cut the tongue from this liar's mouth. If you would hear the things that…"

Sansa cut him off, "I care not for what he says, but I do value his tongue for other uses that you need not be privy to."

Lord Baelish blinked slightly ruffled by this admission. He'd met with Sansa earlier that day in an attempt to woo her for his own purposes. In actuality, he'd come down here for the sole purpose of eliminating any opposing factors that may prevent a further attempt to sway lady Stark from joining his side at a later date, but her stance and the way she glared at him now was enough for Petyr to know chasing her was a lost cause. Instead he turned back to Ramsay his grin growing, "You did say you hoped you could make her happy Ramsay; it would seem you may yet accomplish that goal." Petyr turned back to Sansa giving her a small nod, "I'll see myself out. Good day, lady Sansa."

Sansa's eyes followed his retreat and exit before turning back to Ramsay. She studied him now with an unreadable look before she turned to the guardsmen at her side, "I want a posted man at that door from now on."

"Yes, my lady. It will be done," the guard affirmed.

She gave a slow nod, "Thank you. Please leave us."

The guard was quick to obey as he moved back to and out of the door.

Sansa brought her eyes back to Ramsay, "Now, about that tongue."

Ramsay's heart had been palpitating at a furious rate since Lord Baelish had pulled his dagger; there would have been nothing he could have done to prevent him from driving that dagger into any critical area and ending him. Ramsay had thought he might welcome death, but the truth was the threat of dying still was not appealing enough not to fear it.

It was only now that her words registered as Ramsay brought his eyes up to stare at Sansa, "My lady? Did you wish to inquire about Lord Baelish's visit?"

Sansa shook her head, "I don't care what he had to say, and I certainly don't care what you would say about him because we both know you're a liar. As far as I'm concerned, Lord Petyr Baelish can ride from the North and never return. He brought me to you, and although I can't prove it, I know that Petyr knows people. He should have known you… either way, I'm not interested in hearing you talk. What I am interested in is how well you can use your tongue to please me. That's all it's really good for now. Isn't that right?"

Her words were demeaning, but they also held a truth to them. He found himself defaulting to looking at the mattress as often their conversations led him to avert his eyes unable to bare the further shame that she continued to heap on him. He didn't want to add to diminishing himself further, but he found himself muttering, "I… my tongue is yours to do with as you wish, my lady." Maybe if he pleased her in this way, she would not need to be pleased in other ways less… pleasant for him.

His willingness to please sent a jolt through Sansa as she took in a deep breath regarding him with avarice. She wanted to see his tongue lapping at her the way so many less lady-like women had giggled about in the serving quarters. Sansa had always pretended to ignore them blushing furiously as a young girl. The women would often apologize profusely, and Sansa would be ever the lady and excuse herself without further comment. But the truth was that their words had intrigued her; most young people no matter their gender were quite curious about the other sex even if they felt remiss to speak about it.

Sansa had been bashful and quiet about such things up until that first afternoon she'd spent here in the dungeon with Ramsay, and ever since that day, Sansa seemed to care less and less about how a lady should act and be perceived. She felt emboldened and shameless here with Ramsay knowing that his sole existence hinged on her desires; it was empowering and left her to feel possessive of him now.

Seeing Petyr standing over him holding his dagger in what could have been Ramsay's end had sent a sharp flash of fear that she might actually lose him then, and in this way Sansa realized that she truly didn't want him to die. She was starting to feel something for him, but what exactly she couldn't discern. It unnerved her nonetheless, but not enough to leave him be. Ramsay was hers and hers alone, and no one would take him from her.

She reached down to pet him, and she could hear him release a small moan as he leaned in to her caress. Peering down now she watched his eyes flutter closed against her touch, and this too excited her. He wanted her to have him in this way; her clit swelled, and she grabbed a fistful of his hair pulling his face up to look at her, "You need a shave first. Perhaps a bath once I'm done having my way with you. I want to cum multiple times tonight."

Ramsay's eyes reflected a multitude of things now, he was afraid of the pain that statement promised, but there was hope there that coupled with that pain she'd give him a little more that wasn't pain.

Sansa let his hair go returning to the door to tell the guard she wished for a wash basin, shave brush, and a razor. While the guard had left to comply to her wishes, Sansa had went about bringing the small table over next to the bed followed by pushing the ornate chair over in front of Ramsay. It was quite heavy she found, but she took her time and wobbled it over to where she'd needed it.

Throughout this, Ramsay only observed her silently. Every move she made and did, he took in now, and occasionally she'd peer at him and watched him to although she gave no indication of how she was feeling towards him. She was a captivating mystery more assured now than she'd ever been around him, it was becoming a natural state he expected from her now. Her saving him from Lord Baelish only solidified her strength of will to him. Why had he not seen what she was long before? The words of his father came back to him now when he'd chided Ramsay about how he'd 'played his games with her' both her and Theon, and he had lost. He'd lost everything he'd thought he could gain, and the woman he'd so aptly played his games with had beat him and turned the game back on him. Ramsay knew the game well, but he didn't know what the prize was that she hoped to attain. All he did know was that as long as he kept her happy, she wouldn't want to get rid of him. A pang of despair clenched at him to think that she might cast him out if he didn't please her, not unlike his own mother. To do away with him like rotten fruit past its prime, he didn't know why it would matter, but it did now. Her pleasure amounted to what was now his usefulness, and he would show her he was useful.

Sansa took the cushion of the chair and laid it flush against the mattress, and when the guard returned, she told him that she would wish some hot water to be put on for a bath after the sun had set.

Ramsay took her words in numbly understanding that she planned to have her way with him for quite some time as dark was still many hours from now. He should feel afraid, and on some level he was. He was still sore, but less so than the first time she'd taken him, and although this cinched a level of worry in him as he glanced at the familiar blanket, there was another part of him that had already resigned himself to this fate. It was still better than getting gang raped by several men all night long, and as long as he kept that in mind, the treatment didn't seem as bad.

Moving over to the small table Sansa had placed by Ramsay's bed, she laid the small bowl, brush, and razor down for easy access before settling herself on the cushion and peering at him with a leveled stare, "You're not going to give me any trouble are you? I'd hate to have to strap you for not letting me clean you up properly."

Ramsay shook his head now lightly, "No, my lady. I'll be no trouble; I swear."

His eyes bore into her now as she analyzed him. She didn't trust Ramsay, but his expression spoke that he would behave for her, "Lay your face down on your right side," she instructed casually, and Ramsay did as he was told. Sansa dabbed the brush across the stubble on his face lathering it well before picking up the razor to begin shaving him.

Ramsay didn't flinch, in fact his eyes only glanced at the razor a moment before he transfixed them to look at the wall seemingly unconcerned.

If anyone should be worried in this scenario, it should be Ramsay, but she could tell that he wasn't. For whatever reason he seemed to trust her now, and this fact both amused and mystified Sansa. She didn't question it though as she began to slide the razor evenly across his face. This wasn't the first time she'd done this of course; her mother had made both her and Arya practice on their brothers much to everyone's fear and discomfort, but other than a few nicks, neither Sansa nor Arya had managed to do any real damage with their learning curve. She was no expert now, but she performed well enough to give Ramsay a clean shave. She finished the first side and dried his face, and Ramsay had turned his head without prompting for Sansa to shave the other half. Sansa took her time, and when she was done, she'd ran her hand along the expanse of his cheeks and chin. She liked the feeling of how soft he felt when clean shaven.

As she moved her fingers across his face, Ramsay closed his eyes kissing the inside of her palm as she came to the tip of his chin, "Thank you, my lady," he whispered faintly.

Sansa felt a wash of heat radiate through her; yes, she liked this side of him. Whether he was faking it or not, it turned her on Sansa decided. It honestly didn't matter, she planned to take from him regardless if his intentions were meaningful or not. Her own eyes closed as she wet her lips feeling his soft lips planting soft warm kisses from her palm to her wrist. She cupped his face in response bringing her other hand to play at the small tufts of hair at the back of his neck momentarily before grabbing a handful of it to pull his head back. She was not harsh though as she addressed him with a breathy, "It's time to put your mouth to use elsewhere."

Ramsay let out a soft groan his eyes half lidded and lost to the moment. He'd never pleased a woman in the way Sansa had intended for him to please her now, but he was confident that he could.

She released her hold on him and picked herself up off the floor. Within minutes, Sansa had replaced the cushion and pushed the chair up flush to the mattress. She pulled up the bottom of her long flowing dress to reveal she had been wearing nothing underneath.

Ramsay swallowed feeling his blood pumping in his ears; his cock responded to the scene as well, and he felt it swell under him as he watched Sansa settle herself back onto the chair.

Sansa placed her feet against his shoulders pressing him back slightly in a testing fashion, and Ramsay flexed against her push instinctively. She instructed, "Stick your tongue out for me."

His icy blue eyes regarded her intently with a yearning as he did as she told him readily.

Sansa moved her waist down the length of the chair until just the tip of his tongue tickled the folds of her sex's skin. She let out a small gasp that she hadn't meant to, but the truth was this act left her heady with arousal to see his eyes watching her, aiming to please her she knew. He would please her now she thought as she inched forward for him to fully lap at her.

Ramsay moved his tongue awkwardly at first trying to feel out what it was that made her shudder each time he'd done something in particular, and then he'd found it as he'd moved his tongue in an upward arch; it was the small bulb at the hood of her folds. He realized quickly that she pulled back only allowing him to barely touch it, and as he made her more aroused, she began to grind herself into his mouth. He took the small bulb between his lips and worked his tongue in rapid flicks as he sucked at it gently. Her body shook every time he did this, and Ramsay became rock hard grinding against the mattress as she ran her hand through his hair tugging here and there as he hit a spot that had her unable to not jitter at his touch. Sansa moaned the closer she came to climaxing, and when she did, Ramsay lapped at her taking in her taste with a moan of his own.

Sansa pulled at his hair possessively yanking his face into her sex as she felt him take her in. She found herself gripping the back of his head tightly until her orgasm had finally seeded away from her. She glanced at him now breathing heavily at his crushed swollen red lips wet with her climax. She took in another deep breath letting out a satisfied release of air as she pushed against his shoulders with her feet to sit up in the chair. She smirked at him, and he smiled back. It was the first time he'd smiled since she'd wiped it off his face days ago, but she found she didn't mind it as much now.

"Did I please you well, my lady?" Ramsay asked, and she could tell he wanted badly to hear from her own lips that he had.

Ramsay still needed validation, and seeing the hidden desperation behind his eyes, Sansa smiled as she crossed her legs and leaned her face down close to his. She could smell her sex on his lips, and her eyes took on a sultry seductive glare as she smiled, "Not bad for a first go. I suspect you're going to get better as I plan to give you a lot of practice."

Ramsay seemed genuinely pleased with her words, "I'll get better with practice I'm sure."

Sansa couldn't help a small chuckle, "I have no doubt. I plan to make you practiced at many things." She climbed over the leg of the chair then and made her way back to the door where she instructed the guard of something that Ramsay hadn't been able to discern. When she'd come back, Sansa worked the chair back over to the side of Ramsay's mattress before picking up the rolled blanket from the floor.

Ramsay had been dreading as much as his hard on shriveled at the thought of what was to come from Sansa unwrapping that blanket now. He frowned feeling a panic rise in him as he suggested, "Maybe I can get a little more practice with my tongue in now… instead of…" he swallowed hard flashing a look at her that showed the level of distress he felt knowing he didn't need to say it and hoping the mere mention of an alternative would be enough to deter Sansa this once.

The worried look on his face really was adorable Sansa decided, but she had really liked fucking him. And as much fun as his tongue had been, it just didn't compare to the pleasure of taking him with her new glass dildo. She smiled at him, "You've done well, and I plan to reward you. I will take you in this way still, as this is not a punishment but for my pleasure, but I will make it easier for you to take."

From the look on Ramsay's face, her words didn't seem to appease him, but he didn't protest further knowing it'd do him no good. Instead he wore a small pout in his silent defiance to show his feelings on the matter. Sansa smiled at this too; he was allowed to have a dislike to what she did to him as long as he didn't resist her or get rude and nasty with her. At this point Ramsay seemed more than well aware what would follow anything so brazen, and to this degree, Sansa assumed to pout was the next best thing. Either way, unbeknownst to Ramsay, his pout just made her want to take him that much more.


	7. Torn Apart

Chapter Seven

Torn Apart

Ramsay's mind flitted from the present where Sansa was steadily unwrapping her 'toy' to use on him to what he'd just done with her. He could still taste her he thought absently as he ran his tongue across his lips savoring the imagery it produced of seeing her heaving chest and tremoring body. The feel of her soft thighs squeezing against the sides of his face the closer she came to orgasm and her feet pushing against his shoulders to keep his tongue at bay when he was giving her a little too much of a sensory overload still excited him to think about even now in lieu of the awful thing she planned to do to him next.

She was beautiful, and when he'd first seen her arrive on horseback with Petyr Baelish, he had been more than a little relieved she hadn't looked like his step-mother or worse like many of the inbred nobles that tended to have elongated ears and crossed eyes. It had been a revolting prospect that he'd considered may come to pass when his father had told him that earning the Bolton name meant he'd also be made to marry to form alliances between houses (this was suggested to undo much of the mess Ramsay had made trying to keep other houses in line by flaying the heads of those houses as a deterrent to others to pay their taxes and more so for Ramsay to produce an heir since apparently that was all he was really worth to his father, a legitimized Bolton produced with another house to make it official. Even with the Bolton title, he still knew deep down Roose would always see him as a bastard.)

So many moments in his life he looked back to see where the dots connected now and how he ended up in his current predicament. He could blame his father, but he was more than sure Roose would have chosen a much different tactic on the battlefield, the man was always chiding him about his ruthless tactics. Roose would have had them stay holed up to pick off the Wildling army at the gates. Snow's forces weren't even half of what the Bolton army had, and their men had provisions for more than enough time to make it through half the year and whittle away Jon Snow's forces with the winter alone. It was the long game, and Ramsay was far too impulsive to play the long game, but if he had, he would have likely won. Ramsay had been foolish, always playing more games; life had always been a series of games that he had been the one making the terms for. Games were exciting in that way, but not when you were in the game and not making the rules for it. He glanced back to see Sansa had unwrapped the dreaded two-pronged phallic device and had set it on the chair, and his stomach tightened, he was definitely a pawn where Sansa was the queen now.

The door to the dungeon creaked open, and Sansa looked up to see the guard had arrived carrying a small cup for her. Her eyes shifted to Ramsay, "A little something to make things easier for you as promised, but I think this time, I want you on your back when I take you." Her eyes drifted up to the approaching guard, "Get another man, unchain him, and flip him on his back."

The guard handed the cup to her and nodded, "Aye, my lady."

As the guard hurried off to fetch another guard, Sansa's eyes drifted back down to regard Ramsay who was starting to look panicked as she laid the cup on the small table. It was bad to be taken from behind, but he really didn't want to see it happening to him. It was a sickening thought to have that visual to keep him warm at night.

Sansa lifted a brow, "You seem less inclined to please me on your back. Is there a reason it should matter? I do like taking you from behind, but I want to see your face when I'm fucking you this time… I always did admire your pretty blue eyes."

Ramsay's jaw dropped in his mortification for her to see him in such a way meant that he also would take her in in such a way. She kept blurring the lines for him, he did like the thought of staring into her eyes, but not like this! He would have liked to have her ride him looking as sensuous as she did now, but she wasn't going to fuck him like that he knew. He swallowed hard, "I might be able to please you better without the use of foreign objects. I can be gentle if you but give me the chance," he hated how his voice dripped with his desperation to avoid what she planned to do to him. He must sound pathetic to her Ramsay thought with no small amount of self-pity, but he just couldn't help trying to change the course of where this was going… at least if she would take him in this way, he might at least be able to convince her to go one round in a way that was pleasing to him.

Sansa's face darkened, and Ramsay knew the suggestion alone had been a bad idea, "You had your chance to be gentle, Ramsay, and that time has come and gone to find you lacking. You're making me seriously reconsider my own level of kindness to you now. Perhaps I've been too kind already."

Ramsay shook his head sensing he was digging a hole now he wasn't sure how to get out of, "No! Please don't reconsider! I… I'm sorry for asking, I meant no disrespect, my lady!" The fear swelled through him now as his panic escalated; he'd upset her now, she was going to be cruel to him when she was going to be nice. Ramsay knew if one of his victims had slipped as he had, there would be no end to the torment he'd have put them through just to prove a point, and in this light his fear doubled as his body now shook in small tremors from his own building terror.

Sansa's brow softened seeing how afraid he was of her. It was enough for her to decide she was already planning to fuck him quite sore, she didn't need to be cruel to the extent Ramsay thought her capable of. Still, she had to keep him well in line, "I'll consider your plea, but watch your tongue as it may get you into a position where your words dictate an unwanted fate."

Ramsay nodded vigorously, "Yes, my lady! Of course!" his emotions were peaked between intense feelings of anxiousness and relief, and Ramsay found his eyes quickly glazed over to spill a track of tears down his face.

This reaction made Sansa feel awful; she hadn't meant to distress him to such a state, but to see him crumple to her in such a way left her in a curious condition of inner turmoil where she simultaneously felt aroused by his vulnerability and a want to comfort him. She made no comment nor move, instead she stood stock still regarding him with an expressionless stare afraid to react at all lest she give him too much and confuse the lines of their newly forged relationship. Ramsay needed to fear her she knew, but it was becoming increasingly hard not to reach out to him the less hate she felt for him. She'd comforted him once, and she'd noticed an immediate change in his demeanor; it scared her. He had changed quite a bit after the ordeal she'd put him through, but it was unlike his most recent change where he seemed to willingly fall into the role she'd pushed on him. The real question she had to ask herself about the changes she saw he was making was… was it a ruse, or was he actually seeking her affection now? Like a shark that smells blood in the water, Ramsay had been a predator, and if given the opportunity, she couldn't know for certain what he'd do. With a man like Ramsay, it was hard to tell, but time would reveal his true intentions. Until then, she needed to remain strong around him for the both of them.

Ramsay flushed in shame knowing he had been brought to the brink of tears over just thoughts to what could be over what actually was, and in this way, he felt humiliated to be seen by her in this way. He supposed it was bound to happen eventually, but it didn't make it any easier to accept the level of weakness he felt to reveal it to her and know she saw him for what he was, so afraid.

The guardsmen came then, and without any words, they unlatched his ankles and then his wrists. They were about to manhandle him onto his back, but Sansa held up a hand halting them, "Let him turn himself over; he's more than capable, and I trust he's not foolish enough not to obey." Sansa wanted to test Ramsay's resolve now to see what he'd do and the manner in which he would do it. She paid particular attention to every move and expression he made now.

Feeling the manacles removed, Ramsay rubbed at the place they had been on his wrists before turning his eyes up to Sansa his eyes reflecting that he too knew this was a test. He didn't plan to fail it though as he shifted carefully onto his back and lifted his hands up to where the guards would need to affix his wrists. Ramsay shuddered as a grimace painted his face and he worked to keep any further tears from spilling from his eyes knowing what he was willingly condemning himself to.

The guards unceremoniously attached the manacles as Ramsay placed his hands where they could be easily cuffed.

Ramsay laid stiff as a board looking up at the ceiling, Adam's apple bobbing, as he swallowed his trepidation, and the guards clamped the irons on his feet.

The guards nodded to lady Sansa, and she nodded back an affirmative that they were done. The men took their leave without a word, and Sansa's eyes drifted back to Ramsay. He was trying to put himself somewhere else she could tell, but she didn't plan to give him that; she wanted to see him react to her and to truly feel his state of mind. She wanted to know the truth, and she planned to push Ramsay to find out if he truly was fully hers or just pretending.

Sansa began to undress, slowly, "Look at me, Ramsay," she stated in an authoritative tone. Ramsay's eyes had been quick to snap to attention regarding her fully as he watched her peel the layers of clothing from her body as she'd done the night she'd first used her toy on him. Ramsay shivered involuntarily as his eyes were spellbound by her movements; his own body reacted to what he saw, and Sansa's brow raised as she gave Ramsay a smirk, "And here I didn't think you wanted this," she teased.

Ramsay blinked his face flushing as he turned away and his member shrank to lay against his stomach. Although he was no longer standing at full attention, Ramsay wasn't completely flaccid either.

It amused Sansa how badly he tried now not to be turned on by her, but she could tell that he couldn't help it by the furtive glances he kept throwing her way and the fact that every time he did so, his cock bobbed a reaction to her.

When she picked up the two-ended dildo and inserted it within herself Ramsay finally did go flaccid as his breathing hitched convulsively watching as Sansa rolled the blanket that housed her toy, padded up behind him, and worked it under his head like a pillow. She then reached over and grabbed the cup, the guard had handed her earlier, off of the table before moving over to the side of the bed; her eyes regarded him coolly, "I'm not going to have to ask you to spread your legs for me am I?"

Ramsay was trembling all over now as he began breathing so heavily he was close to hyperventilating, but he didn't give her reason to repeat herself opening his legs shakily as Sansa set the cup down on the floor next to the bed and maneuvered herself between his legs. Her hands reached out to touch his knees, and Ramsay's body rippled is a quaking spasm.

Sansa watched his flesh break out in a coat of goosebumps as she slowly ran her hands from his knees up to his hip bones. He jerked and tensed as she did so. Ramsay's eyes fled to the ceiling once more, and Sansa let him retreat for now as she let her hands continue to explore upward to trace along his abs and to his collarbone. She'd laid the glass cock on his pelvis as she'd leaned on him, and she felt Ramsay writhe under her in his discomfort for a split second before he regained control of himself.

She smiled at the feel of his body under her; his heated and sinewy muscles clenching and unclenching as she laid her weight down upon him. The vibration of his trembling made the dildo judder against her clit and through her insides, and Sansa couldn't help letting go of a small exhale of pleasure.

Ramsay turned his wide feral looking stare on her now; he was paler than normal, and his mouth was drawn into a thin-lined frown as his nostrils flared intake after intake of petrified air. He was doing his best not to beg her; he was so very sore, and even though she'd given him a reprieve to heal a bit more physically, he didn't think he'd ever heal from the emotional scarring left in the wake of every time he agonized being taken this way.

Sansa's eyes reminded him of a cat sizing up the mouse it was about to pounce on; she was hungry for his suffering. Her long tendrils of auburn hair wisped his sides and tickled him lightly as Sansa moved back down the expanse of his body to sit on her knees between his legs. The glass dildo standing at full attention ready to perform greeted his sight as Ramsay glanced at Sansa and gulped lifting his head slightly unable not to watch what she was doing now. She reached down beside the bed now bringing the cup into view, "Sheep's fat," she informed as Ramsay looked on to see her dip the tips of her fingers into the substance and splay it down the length of the glass. The sheen caught the light leaving the slickness evident.

Ramsay bit his lip, it was lubrication, and it would be a lot less harsh than only saliva, still it was just another reminder of what was about to happen, and he couldn't help the small sob that escaped his lips as his brow creased in his misery and his eyes welled with further tears that he couldn't stop, "Sansa…" he felt the need to beg her but all he could find to come out was a small whimper as he laid his head back down and squeezed his eyes shut unable to watch what was coming next.

"Lift your knees, Ramsay," was the only response she gave him, and sniffling sorrowfully, Ramsay drew them up for her. Sansa reached under him and took ahold of his hips yanking him down until his arms were taught.

Ramsay gasped at the possessive way she'd wrenched him forward, and his body began to tremble anew by the aggressiveness he felt coming off of her in waves now. It promised a rough fuck, and if she fucked anything like she had the last time, Ramsay knew he was due to be in for a world of hurt.

Sansa took a small amount of Sheep's fat to draw across his entrance, and she felt him shrink against her touch with another wave of tremors. She'd enjoyed hurting him the first time, and now he was starting to make her feel badly for him. She kept trying to hold on to the awful things he'd done, it was motive enough to know he deserved no less than what she was doing to him, but the small choked sobs, the terror stricken quailing, and the agonized look on his face was making her feel horribly guilty. "Ramsay," she stated softly.

There was a long pause and a sniffle before she heard a watery, "Yes, my lady," work its way painfully from Ramsay's throat. He'd opened his eyes to look back at the ceiling, and another wave of tears spilled down the sides of his face.

"I want you to try and relax for me. I told you I was going to be nice to you, but I can't do this nicely if you keep tightening up the way you are. You're only hurting yourself; I'll go slow for you this time," she didn't know why she felt the need to be gentle with him now; he was never gentle with her, but she wasn't him, and now, he wasn't that part of himself anymore either.

Ramsay's body still trembled, but Sansa felt him working to loosen his muscles for her as She lathered a little more of the sheep's fat onto his sensitive skin. He watched her now with flared eyes that displayed more than just fear, they spoke of an expectation to betray.

She could tell that at that moment, he was less afraid of the pain and more afraid that she would be vindictive to him. She decided then that there was a lot more to discover about Ramsay than she'd have ever expected she'd wanted to. He was damaged wholly, and only by tearing him down could she see so readily all the chinks in his armor. She decided then that she would fix him one fragmented piece at a time. She took in a deep breath as she fixed him with a calming gaze, "Are you ready?"

Was she really asking him that? He'd never be ready, but Ramsay found himself nodding after a small hesitation. It wasn't as if, not being ready eternally, was going to keep this from happening to him.

Sansa nodded, "Okay. I'm going to ease into you now. It's going to burn a little, but you need to relax," as she said this, she pressed against his entrance.

Ramsay keened, "I'm not ready! I'm not ready!" His body convulsed and his knees locked together. Not being able to accept even her kindness like this caused him to weep now as he fully expected to feel her jam ruthlessly inside of him as a punishment for not giving her what she sought. She didn't though, Sansa paused and waited for him to calm, but this added kindness only seemed to make him shudder as his emotion rode over uncontrollably and he whimpered a mantra of apologies.

She couldn't do this to him now she found as she pulled the bulb out of herself and pushed down gently on his knees, "Shh, shh, Ramsay, it's okay. It's okay." He wasn't with her she realized having put his mind elsewhere in preparation for what she was about to do to him. She moved off the bed and behind his head laying her palm flat down on his forehead as she brought her face down close to his ear, "Ramsay, stop!"

Her command seemed to pull him out of the state he'd slipped into, and his eyes cleared as he blinked still sniffling and trying to control his tears that continued to cascade from him without any hint of abating. Would she hurt him in other ways now? Ramsay worried, but Sansa only lightly drew her hand through his hair to comfort him. He found himself turning to her now with a look of puzzlement trying to understand.

Sansa stared back down at him now very seriously, "Don't take this kindness for weakness Ramsay, I can't in good conscious take you the way I want to knowing you're still so sore. This is a reprieve not a halt to you pleasing me in this way. Do you understand me?"

Ramsay's eyes widened as he gave her a small nod. She wasn't going to hurt him, "Yes… Thank you. I won't forget that you were kind to me," as he said this another wave of tears rolled out of his eyes, and Ramsay blinked swallowing hard as his eyes remained locked on her intently.

Sansa brought her lips down to kiss him gently, and Ramsay stared at her in awe as his jaw worked. He was at a loss for words, and Sansa smiled as she moved the tips of her fingers gently down the sides of his face to clear away his tears, "I told you that you would serve me, and with your service, I will take good care of you. I always hold dear what belongs to me, Ramsay, and you belong to me now."

Ramsay swallowed hard still holding her with a look of wonder as he digested her words, "I… I'll not fail you again." The tears she'd cleared away renewed new pools in his eyes, and Sansa leaned in to kiss him again. He shuttered taking in a deep breath as he closed his eyes feeling electric to the energy her kiss spread through him.

When he opened his eyes again, she was smiling at him, "I won't let you fail, Ramsay. Do you believe me?"

He found himself nodding, and her smile broadened, "Good. Now close your eyes and rest. I will dress and be back in a bit to give you a bath."

Ramsay let out a sigh as his eyes fluttered; he felt emotionally drained, but he also felt something more that gave him a sense of peace he never could remember feeling. Sansa took the dildo from the bed and placed it in the basket with her other dildo and the strap followed by pulling the fur blanket from the floor to cover him. Ramsay's breathing lapsed into long deep drags of air as his body relaxed now under this new comfort. He felt a warmness that wasn't generated by any heat, it touched something deep within him that soothed like a balm to a burn.

Sansa dressed watching Ramsay with new eyes, she was still in awe herself over what had transpired between them, but she knew now more than ever that Ramsay was becoming more to her than she'd ever thought possible. She'd meant what she said to him; Ramsay did belong to her now, and she would take care of him.


	8. Dissipate

This is another one of those 'character development' chapters; thought I'd let you guys know, so as not to disappoint those awaiting something... less pure LOL!

As always, thank you so much for all your lovely praise on this fic! You don't know the level of elation I get to see/respond to all your wonderful comments! =D

Chapter Eight

Dissipate

Ramsay wasn't sure exactly when he'd let himself drift off as Sansa had slowly dressed herself, but somehow the feeling of her eyes upon him now didn't make him feel afraid as much as they gave him a sense of security. He'd allowed himself to trust Sansa and know that she would always be true to her word. Ramsay had known this fact before; it was one of the reasons his smile had faltered at the parlay when she'd told him he would die the next day.

The clarity that she had killed that man as promised came days later, but when it had finally settled in Ramsay's mind to be truth, it had been a revelation that as rumor had always said, a Stark truly does always keep their word even if not in the way Ramsay might have assumed. Ramsay's own mind had had trouble comprehending the righteousness and candor that Sansa represented, and up until this point, he'd still found himself doubting. Ramsay didn't doubt her anymore; he couldn't in the face of what she had shown him, strength of will coupled with compassion.

He surely didn't deserve her benevolence, Ramsay had thought quite perplexed when she'd shown him mercy and comfort in the wake of everything he had done to her. This too was an alien emotion, regret and guilt, but Ramsay felt both now acutely. In those moments where he had been sure that Sansa would sate her hunger while he'd wilted under the pressure of facing the punishment he'd so willingly placed on others, Ramsay couldn't help but to see himself as a reflection of this moment so many times over.

All those women, their eyes had been terrified, fear stricken as they'd bleated for a reprieve, and it had felt like a victory to him to take them as a well won prize. He'd given them a chance to get away after all, and it was but a sport. Their feelings never mattered, their pain only scratched some far off itch within himself to take from them, and to be the one taking from them poured something else into him. Like liquid fire in his veins, he felt a rush of adrenaline and power, but he was feeding a hole that could never be filled. As Sansa pressed against him, and he felt helpless, Ramsay realized what it was to be truly at the mercy of another, and to know what it was now made him hate himself with a bitter loathing.

Ramsay's eyes shot open at the sound of water filling into the tub from across the way. The tub had been drained after its first use, and the memory of what had preceded his first bath, here in this place, shot a shock of cold to run down Ramsay's spine followed by a wash of humiliation at the memories held there.

He'd been so thoroughly used for hours on end, and even now those recollections haunted his waking thoughts. Ramsay still felt the ferocity of how he'd been taken throughout the night proceeded by the derisive comments and the looks of disapproval and disgust from more than half of the angry men.

Two of the men had been of his own regiment; he'd remembered seeing them march into battle with his sigil of the flayed man raised valiantly on their shields. That was the last he'd seen of them as the knights of the Vale had ridden in to demolish his standing army like a powerful wave sweeping through them in devastating numbers.

Ramsay hadn't stuck around to see if any of his soldiers had survived the bout, nor had he'd cared; they were after all quite expendable. Or so Ramsay had thought then; those men surely didn't think so, and they had made sure he knew their feelings of him thinking them to be so disposable. His own men had been some of the most vicious to take him that night. There had been no sexual desire there only contempt and a wish to see him brought low, and they'd worked extra hard to accomplish that goal in their brutality and vulgar commentary.

They had of course, all of those men pouring their hate and avarice upon Ramsay, spilling their seed in him and across him; it had demoralized him in a way that Ramsay had never thought possible, pounding (quite literally) his old self away and leaving a tattered remains. He had been stripped of his arrogance and pride so thoroughly that he'd become a shell of the man he'd once been; Ramsay now knew full well his place in the world and wanted nothing more than to never be reminded again so thoroughly. Sansa had broken his will into a million pieces, and what she'd taken from him, Ramsay could never take back.

The residual fears these thoughts instilled left Ramsay in a numb silence as he lay eyes wide open and listening to the servant whom over the next twenty minutes quietly moved in and out of the dungeon to dump pail after pail of hot water into the tub. He correlated the sound to the last hour of his suffering in the burgeoning hours of dawn. Ramsay had all but left his body at that point dully feeling the continued pain of his rape by the remaining two men that had once been his own men. They had managed to take the most affront to his battle tactics having lost most of their friends and able bodied kin to have fought for him. He shuttered as his emotions coalesced with the retentions of the events that still reminded him what failure to please Sansa could bring.

Ramsay heard her familiar gait and the swish of trailing fabric move across the stone floor far before he saw her, and his throat tightened mouth running dry. He honestly didn't know what to expect from Sansa after their last encounter. She'd kissed him, it was soft and gentle leaving Ramsay thrown by the action. He'd been astounded further when she'd leaned in to do it a second time lingering a moment and retracting away from him with a smile. This smile was the first he'd seen from her that hadn't reflected a hint of cruelty to what she could or would do that he was yet to discover. In fact, her smile was an unfamiliar one to him altogether that reflected fondness, and a want to assuage the inner pain he'd so haplessly let stream from himself like a breaking damn.

Ramsay didn't cry anymore (until now that was.) It had been many years since he'd been moved enough to cry, and that was a bitter pill after the elation of finding out who his father was and meeting the man only to realize that the man was far from impressed with Ramsay. Roose Bolton had been sure to remind Ramsay his place as a Snow meant that he wasn't a true Bolton, but now that he'd been brought to the light that he'd be allowed to stay with his smelly servant in one of the dilapidated wings of the castle. Ramsay was told not to show his face to any of his visitors until he'd been trained well enough to be civil. He hadn't said this unkindly, but Roose was always rather indifferent concerning the boy. He did have a rightful heir already, but now that Ramsay's existence was made known, word that Roose had a bastard son was already circulating, so he'd make sure the boy was educated enough not to embarrass him further.

The world had been more callous to a nameless bastard of a raped miller's widow though. In his early life, Ramsay had sought comfort from his own mother, but his attempts to seek refuge was met with despondency and neglect. His mother suffered because of him he knew, she spoke of her loss quite often, the happiness that was ripped from her with his conception and the death of her only love. He learned it was better to find other things to do with his time and to leave his mother alone. It was best not to bother her lest she retreat completely and not acknowledge him at all.

Ramsay remembered clearly the event that had changed his life; one of the barnyard's feral cats had been maimed by some wild animal, and Ramsay had taken it to her. The animal had been mostly unconscious when Ramsay had set it at the foot of her rocking chair. She hadn't taken notice of him or it from her knitting, but as the rocking chair came down to crush the subdued creature's tail, in its terror it lashed out to scratch and bite her. She'd screamed a surprising shrill that rang through the house as she'd jumped to her feet crochet needles haphazardly thrown across the room.

It was the most reaction he'd ever seen from her as she wrenched the animal from the floor angrily and tossed its yowling form out the door. She'd locked him in his room for two days for that. No matter how Ramsay pleaded to be released, he'd heard nothing; the house was barren and listless. He'd thought she'd left for good this time. Sometimes she needed to get away from everything, and during those times, Ramsay could expect to spend most of the day in his room. He'd stopped calling out to her by the age of three knowing that to cry for her would not evoke a response but seemed to keep her at bay longer. It was better to just wait until mother felt better.

When she had finally set him free, she'd had brought him a new friend. His new friend smelled funny, but he also listened to Ramsay. He told Ramsay that he would serve him and that he would do anything for his new master. Ramsay had told him of the cat incident, and they found it still under the foundation of the house too weak to have gone very far in its last throws of life. His new friend had made the cat pay for hurting his mother and making her angry with him! By the time the creature had expired, his new friend had taught it well that to hurt Ramsay meant it would suffer dearly. Ramsay had liked his new friend, he didn't need mother now because Reek would be there to help do what needed to be done, and he would help Ramsay make them hurt.

In this way, Ramsay knew companionship, Reek would never leave his side! It was a far contrast to mother, and Reek always had interesting things to teach him. The games they would play made the other children afraid of them, but Ramsay didn't need any of them Reek had told him. He was to be a great man that all would respect because a little bird had told Reek that Ramsay was special. Ramsay had believed him, and Reek, although simple, was deathly loyal not unlike a hound that would lie at his feet. He'd told Ramsay that's where he belonged, and Ramsay had liked this game to.

Sansa was standing over him now, and for a moment Ramsay's eyes seemed vacant as he reminisced on a long ago memory of his personal understanding of attachment. He was back with Sansa in an instant staring up at her with curious blue eyes that regarded her with a sense of wariness even now. Ramsay couldn't help the inner cringe that swept through him at the thought of displeasing her.

Like Reek, Ramsay would give her his full attention because even though she had been kind when they last saw each other, he didn't know if that kindness would be stripped away in an instant if he did not afford her the deference she deserved. After all, his first Reek had demanded pain for any slight, and he'd shown Ramsay that Ramsay had to be the one to deliver this pain to his undeserving servant. It was an important part of making him respect his master he had told Ramsay. Ramsay didn't want Sansa to ever feel slighted again as he knew well her ire and wanted no part of it. She too knew how to teach respect far greater than he'd ever imagined she could.

She looked down for a long moment inwardly contemplating the myriad of expressions that passed over Ramsay's face as she announced, "Guards, undo his chains."

The two men that had accompanied her were quick to move into action as they tossed the fur blanket from him with a sudden jerk, and Ramsay froze stiffening as they moved to fulfill Sansa's command. Once the manacles were removed, Ramsay remained lying still and watching her raptly awaiting direction.

Sansa took this in as well, "Come Ramsay; I wish to bathe you now." She didn't order the guards to bring him to the tub as she moved away from Ramsay over to the steaming waters.

Ramsay's eyes jolted to each guard that gave him grave glares that spoke of pain if he tried to do anything stupid; he hadn't intended to do anything to upset Sansa, but the threat was well noted as he found himself rolling up and off of the bed to quickly pad over to her. His head remained bowed all the while, and his shoulders drew up slightly with apprehension as he approached her.

Ramsay was already half a head shorter than Sansa, but he'd always stood so boldly she'd hardly noticed the height difference. Seeing Ramsay now, reduced into this vulnerable state, made him seem that much smaller to her now. With the weakness he projected, Sansa couldn't help feeling another pang of covetous towards him in a want to protect this new fragility Ramsay encompassed.

Ramsay's eyes flitted up to her questioningly, and Sansa nodded towards the tub, "Go on; get in."

As Ramsay moved to comply, the serving girl that had filled the tub, furnished the grooming supplies Sansa had asked for situating them on the small table that had been left by his bed before moving and placing both at the head of the tub. A short stool was provided for Sansa to sit on; once Ramsay had moved into the tub and sat, Sansa also seated herself as she casually worked to undo the buttons on her sleeves and carefully roll them up so she could reach into the waters easily. Sansa had decided that she'd wanted to perform this given task personally.

Her hair had already been neatly woven into an artistic display of braids pinned on top of her head so as not to have her long tresses dragging through the water. Sansa had intended all along to wash him herself (which had surprised Ramsay having assumed she'd have made a servant or himself do it when she'd mentioned the bath before leaving him earlier.)The fact she was going to do it herself made Ramsay feel slightly awkward for some unknown reason.

He'd been bathed by servants in the past, most of them were stiff and quite afraid of what to expect from him if they performed poorly. Word had gotten around after a couple serving girls had disappeared mysteriously, and it was made quickly known to never displease the bastard of Bolton. He'd enjoyed making the young women reach down to wash him and seeing them bashfully comply. None of them ever expressed an undo want to bathe him (outside of Miranda, and when she came to bathe him, the two had never made it very far before other things ensued that were far more pleasurable than bathing.)

Ramsay watched Sansa under his bangs now, his eyes reflecting interest in her every move where he otherwise fought to keep his face remaining neutral. His lips still pursed absently as he watched her meticulously prepare herself to bathe him. Once ready, Sansa stretched to grab the bar of soap and the washcloth from the table plunging the washcloth into the waters and lathering it well before setting the soap back onto the tray.

She glanced Ramsay's way taking his form in once more; he was scrunched practically into a ball within the waters and very much exuding anxiety by the tenseness he held himself with over what her intentions may be. Sansa supposed that she couldn't blame his expectations for her to hurt him after everything she'd done to him so far, but it still served to bother her that she was now trying to show Ramsay that she wouldn't be heavy handed with him unless he'd given her reason. Obedience would be rewarded she wished to relay to him now because she wanted to be kind to him even if she still wanted him for other purposes.

Sansa drew the cloth across his back, and unlike the first experience he'd had with her where she'd scrubbed him raw with a floor scrub brush, this time she moved languidly with a light pressure that fulfilled the purpose she intended of cleaning him, but also with a tenderness that exuded care. Ramsay could feel she was taking her time with him. Her fingers moved across his skin with the cloth in tow fluidly shifting over his tense muscles with light squeezes meant to help him relax under her ministrations. Ramsay reflexively braced himself at first when she did this, and Sansa leaned in close to his ear in an intimate fashion saying softly, "I'm not going to hurt you now, Ramsay. This is one of the ways that I will take care of you."

His skin rippled under the sensation of her continued tenderness as Sansa drew the washcloth into the depths of the water to drag the hot water soothingly now over his shoulders and back. The movement was simple enough of course, but the touch held an intimacy that Ramsay could feel working at his damaged mind that desperately worked to comprehend the emotions Sansa was awakening in him.

His eyes shifted back and forth as a tremble moved through him; her words sang to his soul, and Ramsay's lip quivered; he wanted to feel her care for him like she was now so badly he ached for it. It wasn't an emotion he'd ever shared with another person; no one cared for Ramsay Bolton. He took what he wanted from others because that was as close as he ever got to sharing anything with another person, other than their pain. So many alien emotions were spinning him into a sea of confusion and anxiety; he felt like he had no footing to settle the shaky grounds he now walked with her.

She was touching his chin now gently lifting it to have him look at her. Ramsay drew his eyes up to meet hers, and Sansa's face shifted into a warm smile beaming a radiance that filled him with longing as she gently patted his jaw and cheekbone quite careful of the small cuts that were still mending, "You're face is healing well I see. Good, I would like to see you whole in this way," Sansa remarked absently as she slid the washcloth in small swipes across the bridge of his nose and forehead admiring physical aspects of the man she hadn't cared to notice before.

She was so mindful of every wound and contour, and as Ramsay stared at Sansa now, her eyes reflected something so much different than anything she'd ever bestowed to him; he could feel that she was not doing this out of some sense of duty to clean him. There was something more, it gave him a surge of warmth to feel it boring into him and to know that she truly wanted this to feel good for him. Ramsay worked now not to cry, but the tears found their way to loose themselves from his eyes in a single silent trek down the front of his face as he couldn't keep from thinking about the way she showered such attentions on him not because she was being made to but because she chose to. She was being so kind to him now without him feeling any fear of reprisal for her doing so; this confounded Ramsay greatly. He didn't understand what he'd done for her to give him attention in this way.

Sansa saw the tears glaze Ramsay's eyes and spill from them as he'd stared at her with that same haunted stare he'd affixed her with earlier (those impassioned eyes were beginning to take a powerful hold over Sansa through their sheer intensity of unfettered yearning projected solely at her); he'd quickly averted his eyes downward, and she felt a gentle tug from his chin to hide his face, but she held him firm, "Ramsay… what's the matter? I've not hurt you have I?" Sansa had assumed what she was doing for him would have given him a little pleasure. To see him cry now perplexed her.

"No, no! I… I'm sorry my lady. I… I don't know what has come over me," his voice shook as it moved past his tight throat. He felt himself unraveling in front of her, and Ramsay was helpless to the tide he was swept within drowning under the weight of his own feelings.

Sansa frowned trying to understand what pulled so grievously at Ramsay that to show him compassion would be such a shock to his system that it would make him cry; it saddened her to see that he was so wholly unused to a gentle touch that it served to break him further. Another action that she'd never expected to bring about such a response in him, "It's okay, Ramsay. Do not apologize for this." She pulled on his chin to get him to look back up at her once more just so he would see the seriousness in her leveled stare, "Never this. The soul needs to feel cleansed, and I will never be angry with you for baring yourself in such a way to me. Do you understand?"

Ramsay gave a small affirmative nod making her arm shake as he gulped back another wave of tears that threatened to spill by her kind words to him and what they meant regarding him. Here she was continuing to grant him such mercies even now as he couldn't help but to show her how weak he truly was. He imagined the disgust in his father's face then, and shamed, he blushed furiously.

Sansa gave him a small smile as she let go of the hold she had on his chin to caress the side of his face in a comforting gesture as she spoke, "I want your honesty; if you can give it. I would like to understand what's upsetting you now."

Ramsay's mouth worked to put into words his feelings all the while his eyes flitted up to her while his limbs moved about in the waters, "I'm not worthy of the attentions you give me lady, Sansa. I would have never appreciated them before," he sucked in air staring hard at the waters below as a wave of guilt flashed through him. It was true, he never saw Sansa as more than a trophy before… all of this. His current state granted him a clarity to see his old self in an all new light. He would have never been grateful before, and it was just a further reminder that the man he was prior to this new person he was becoming was but a grisly phantom haunting him now.

"Before? You do now?" Sansa questioned curiously, and Ramsay's eyes immediately moved to meet hers as he shook his head eagerly, "Yes, I do. I really do."

Sansa grinned cheekily, "Good. I'm beginning to like you now then," it was meant as a joke, and the lightheartedness eclipsed a burgeoning smile to crop on Ramsay's face to know he was making her happy with him. Ramsay enjoyed the light in her eyes when she smiled at him as it lifted something in him as well.

She ran a wet hand through his dry hair mussing it as he closed his eyes tilting his head down shyly. The gesture was cute enough to Sansa to make her giggle at him which seemed to only make Ramsay blush further. Sansa placed the washcloth on the side of the tub grabbing the small pitcher from the table to scoop from the waters and begin dousing his head. She replaced the pitcher, and grabbed a concoction of ash, vine stalks, and egg whites that had been mixed as a cleanser for his hair, and Sansa gently tilted his chin to have Ramsay look to the ceiling as she worked the mixture into his wet strands.

The feeling of her fingertips scrubbing gently at his skull and lathering his hair left Ramsay to let go of a contented sigh. Washing ones hair was a privilege that even nobles did seldom, so to be treated to this was quite an honor for her to grant him. He let himself get lost to her touch as his breathing slowed into a serene lull that was close to the deep breaths of sleep. Once he'd been lathered well, Sansa stood to grab the pitcher of clean water left to the side of the tub to rinse Ramsay's hair. She poured slowly working carefully to remove the mixture she'd applied with the limited amount of fresh water the pitcher held. His hair was shaggy and thick, but it was short, so she was able to clear the concoction well enough to have a little left to which she playfully tipped onto his face when she'd finished.

Ramsay's eyes fluttered, long wet lashes glistening in surprise as he sputtered from the action to look up at her. Realizing she was only teasing him, he couldn't help a small smile to crack on his lips, "Thank you, my lady. That was… very nice of you to bestow upon me."

Sansa smirked, "I want you to always look presentable for me, and I'll take pains to make sure the look of you pleases me."

Ramsay's mouth twitched thinking on her words with a mix of embarrassment to have her refer to him in such a way and also pleasure that she wanted him at all and was willing to invest such care in him to please herself, "Whatever you desire, I will do as you wish," his eyes spoke devotion as they held her in their sights.

Looking at him now, Sansa could tell that Ramsay needed her, needed her care more than her anger. It was an odd thing to wrap her mind around to see how much his every gesture and movement seemed attuned to follow her seeking attention and validation.

He wanted to please her so very much now if only so that she would grace him with this side of her, a much more maternal side that was still foreign to Ramsay but a side he found to tug within him a whirlpool of unsatisfied emotions that he'd blocked from his subconscious a lifetime ago. She was giving him cause to feel, and as much as he didn't understand these feeling plaguing him, Ramsay felt that Sansa was now his salvation.

Sansa took the cloth back up and re-lathered it, "I want you to scoot back to lay your head against the back of the tub, so I can wash the rest of you."

Ramsay did as he was told watching as Sansa quietly went about the continued task of washing him thoroughly. He half expected her to grope him as she'd done before, but she did not, not this time. This time she remained neutrally careful no matter the area she'd touched while still remaining temperate with the touches she afforded Ramsay.

Sansa did linger on his entrance stroking it lightly, and Ramsay found himself tensing and holding onto the sides of the tub with white knuckles, although he didn't pull away from her. Ramsay's brow did furrow in his worry, and seeing his expression, Sansa stated gently, "I'm just checking on your condition. After your bath, I'll go gather and apply an herbal medicine that should help with the swelling."

Ramsay grimaced finding himself unable to comment as he looked away. He wanted to feel better, but the thought of such an application by her was another strike to his already tenuously held by a thread ego.

Sansa withdrew her hand from the tub, and Ramsay continued to stare up at her, "You may lay here and soak or dry yourself and return to your bed. I will return shortly."

Ramsay blinked sitting up again as he watched her go. He could have risen from the tub, but out of the two options that Sansa gave him, going back to lay on his bed was the less appealing of the two. Ramsay remained in the same spot crossing his arms around his knees and propping his chin between them as his thoughts drifted to Sansa's most recent handling of him and how it contrasted from her previous fondling. These new touches were much nicer, and the fact that she gave this side of herself to him at all was still a mystery to Ramsay. She kept astounding him on every level leaving Ramsay wholly intrigued by her in an almost worshipful manner.


	9. Bending

Just to give a heads up, there's no sex in this chapter either. Sorry to all those chomping at the bit for it! There will be more in the future, but at this point in the story, I'm focusing on development. Hope it's not too disappointing without the naughty bits! LOL!

As always comments make me a happy writer and give my muse wings! =D

Chapter Nine

Bending

Sansa hadn't taken long to return to the dungeon, the medicine she spoke of was already made in large quantities due to the number of injured men being treated after the battle. She'd sent a servant to gather it and another to prepare some food for the two of them to be brought back with a small table and two chairs. It wasn't lost on Sansa that she was planning to have dinner with Ramsay in the dungeon of all places, and the mere thought of it struck her as absurd.

As she waited in the foyer for the servant's return, Sansa's mind roiled over the day's events. She couldn't help feeling herself foolish to be letting Ramsay Bolton of all people get close to her. Never would she have ever imagined that in the span of one week, she could evoke not only a change in him to need her but that she would in turn start to want him back. There was something intrinsically pervasive in the way Ramsay's mentality had shifted so wholly; what really threw Sansa was the fact that she actually believed that he wasn't faking it. The sentimentality of such a prospect had her on edge.

Sansa had to wonder if she was of sound mind anymore because she surely had to be mad to be feeling the way that she had started to feel about the bastard of Bolton, but Ramsay's eyes held a hypnotic quality to them that Sansa couldn't deny was quite alluring to her, and it was true that the power she held over him now both in mind and body was quite tantalizing to behold. It made Sansa burn with an inner fever that ignited so many new and provocative sensations within her. For a moment, she forgot where the fantasy had ended and reality began. They had been almost one in the same until the realization came that Ramsay was still a living, breathing, person; he was hers still fully and completely not unlike many of the objects that she owned, yet he was still a person nonetheless, and this fact held its own weight for her to ponder on. She was raised nobly, but could what she be doing to him be considered any less than ruthless?

Jon's quiet regard told her the persistence of the situation still worried him. From accounts that were told of Ramsay's yield to Sansa's will (Jon had been paying close attention, and from the knowledge garnered, closer than he'd have liked to be privy to.) Jon was concerned less now for her safety and more for her personal integrity of where this new dark path she walked would lead her. They were not raised callously, and what she did now, they both knew was not the traditional Stark way. Ousted by their home long enough to know that the honors and traditions of Ned and Katalin Stark were but haunting ghosts to a seemingly distant past, memories that walked down shadowed hallways to settle within the mausoleum and perhaps fade into transparency as the world around continued to lurch forward. Time had changed them. Sansa had changed there was no denying, and as much as she was loath to admit it, this didn't feel like it was a bad change. Sansa felt far more confident now than she had in her entire life.

She had never been in charge of her life, forever the beaten back wall flower pushed into duty as was expected of her because she bore the Stark name. Things had drastically changed for her now since taking back their old home to which she was seen as the lady of the manor even though she herself felt Jon had rightful claim over the title by his own prowess and strength. Defiling Ramsay the way she had was a conquest to feel whole again when she'd started, a fire blazing in the pit of her stomach urging her to strip him bare of everything that he was and tear him asunder to blow away not unlike ash in the wind for what he'd done to her and others she'd cared about.

It had felt good to destroy the monster that she'd seen him as, and her mercilessness commanded respect from many of the men and women that had seen or heard of the results of what she'd done to Ramsay, dare it to say that many even regarded her with a modicum of fear to know the lengths she'd tortured the man and the fact that she broken his very spirit. This type of recourse was expected of a Bolton (especially the bastard of Bolton for many had been witness to Ramsay's display of flaying individuals to cause fear and pain in both those he inflicted it upon and any who were forced to stand on the side lines and observe), expected of a Bolton yes, but not of a Stark.

Sansa was becoming somewhat of a legend as it was not often to hear such sordid tales of a noble woman doing the things she had done to a defeated prisoner of battle (the tales were elaborated in heated whispers through the quiet halls of the castle and not so secretive boisterous fabrications around many campfires.) Some had murmured that Ramsay had perhaps changed their lady and touched her with the taint that had filled him. They gossiped that when she'd broken Ramsay, she'd taken his cruelty and absorbed it into herself. Most refused to believe such rumors of course and just raised a cup to Sansa and cried justice well served.

There were celebrations and feasts she'd heard to learn that Ramsay Bolton had been brought so low as to become a mockery to hold the name Bolton at all. He'd hurt so many, and to hear of his downfall at such a huge cost to his pride was rather satisfying for those that had suffered from his actions. She may have shared such news with him when she still resented the very breath Ramsay took, but now, the thought of hurting him (and she knew that such news would devastate Ramsay, he'd held such a firm stock in being naturalized after all) to tell him how they mocked him and his house now would serve no purpose other than to be cruel.

Sansa found she was no longer interested in being vindictive. There was no further reason because the person that she had hated no longer lived within the eyes that stared back at her; all she saw in those pale blue eyes now was a longing desire for her attention. He'd become a sad creature comparatively, but better nonetheless. She would make him better still.

Sansa's eyes rose to the door as a gust of cold wind marked the return of the serving girl. The girl held a small slab of bark in both hands with a knife's scrape of the amount of the tincture she'd been given. It wasn't much, but it was more than what Sansa needed for a couple applications. The servant was quick to hand her the bark looking rather nervous as she did so. Sansa thanked her, and the girl nodded with downcast eyes and shifted quickly away. Sansa didn't remark as she watched the girl move away, but something inside of her twisted in dread that she'd somehow created a generalized uneasiness in some of the servants now. This wasn't the first incident of the servants shying away from her like this young girl. Over the past couple days, Sansa had noticed it to become a rather frequent occurrence that quite a few servants in the keep kept very short correspondence with her and were always hasty to provide whatever she would ask of them. Were they really afraid of her? Did they think she would do to them what she did to Ramsay if they displeased her? Surely not!

The thought in itself tumbled through her as she made her way back to the dungeon door peering in through the small slits to see Ramsay curled in on himself in the tub where she'd left him. He looked harmless, frail to the world around him, and Sansa knew that she had been the one to make him that way; maybe she was to be feared. These recognitions within herself cropped an understanding that not everything was as it seemed to be; the fearless moniker that was being passed around about her was not entirely true. As she stared at Ramsay now, she knew fear, and it was not anything like what she had felt for him prior to the recapturing of the keep. She was starting to fear what she was feeling, more specifically, she feared her feelings and whether those feelings would eventually be her down fall.

Ramsay lifted his head to the yawning groan of the dungeon door; it was amazing how familiar that sound had become to him over the past week. Upon seeing Sansa, he rose tentatively and removed himself from the waters. There had been a towel laid across the back end of the tub, and Ramsay grabbed a hold of it quickly patting himself down as Sansa made her way towards him.

Ramsay couldn't help but glance over at the strange green crème she held quite simply in both hands; Ramsay of course made no comment and quickly averted his eyes from the ointment. He knew well what it was for. The sight of it now though caused a heat to build through him numbing his face and settling in his cheeks. The thought of lying still and divulging himself to her to apply the balm to his entrance left Ramsay to feel irrationally embarrassed. He had suffered enough degradation that he expected to be treated like an object now. After everything else he'd been put through, such a simple treatment should seem laughably easy to overcome feeling ashamed for, but it was the intimacy behind the act in the way that it was being done to care for him instead of hurt him that was causing this reaction now.

Sansa watched him as he toweled himself dry his muscles shaking here and there most likely due to the limited amount of moving about he'd been afforded chained first to the cross and then his bed. When he was done, Ramsay found himself shifting from foot to foot as his eyes trailed up to Sansa, he silently willed her to give him direction so as not to displease her by choosing poorly. He held the towel against his stomach as if his nakedness wasn't something both of them should be used to by now.

Sansa's lip tugged down slightly at this; she didn't want him hiding himself from her as his nakedness served to please her. She stated candidly, "Fold the towel and place it on the tub's edge; when you've done that, I want you to get on to your bed, so that I may tend you." She said this with head held high and expression neutral to make Ramsay more pliable. Ramsay seemed to default to obey more readily when she spoke to him like this now she'd noted, and she didn't want to give him reason to falter in that resolve and question her authority over him in lieu of the kindness she gave to him now. Sansa turned and strode away from Ramsay to sit on the side of his bed settling herself neatly as her eyes lingered over his form just watching him curiously and awaiting to see him follow her instructions.

Ramsay's eyes followed her, and when she'd seated herself, he did as he was told reluctantly pulling the towel from his body, folding it, and placing it where he'd originally grabbed it before bowing his head and padding back over to the front of his bed. He timidly climbed on top of the mattress crawling to the middle of the bed where his eyes glanced to her momentarily before looking back down at the mattress. Ramsay found it difficult to keep eye contact with her for too long unless she demanded it. His own inner shame wouldn't allow it.

Watching him move reminded Sansa of the grace a deer crept from out of the woods with, cautious, graceful, and ever the prey. Again she was reminded that this was what she had made of him. It was still hard to comprehend that she could have ever have done this to another human being, but then Ramsay hadn't been a human being when she'd shredded him. To look at him now made her feel a pang of guilt; Sansa had felt similarly when she'd left Ramsay earlier, in actuality her guilt had been far worse as his anguished sobs and the way he had looked at her with such despair put in prospective how much she'd actually already taken from him that she hadn't fully realized up until that moment.

She'd wanted to shatter Ramsay when this had all began, but now she wasn't really sure what she wanted, other than him. This new side of Ramsay left her feeling more conscience of hurting him; she hadn't cared before, but now Sansa wanted to make him crave her touch when she had her way with him (not just tolerate it because he had no other choice.)

Ramsay had shown he was hungry for her attention, and Sansa deemed that perhaps if she was gentle with him, she might get Ramsay to enjoy the things she did to him. If she could accomplish this, it would make Sansa feel much better for wanting to do them to Ramsay in the first place. He did seem to enjoy pleasing her with his mouth, (the first time she'd enjoyed that quirky pull in his smile that denoted he had in fact been pleased with himself) and if she worked to please him while she fucked him with her glass cock, Ramsay could grow to appreciate that she was willing to give him an orgasm for pleasing her well. It could be mutually beneficial.

If not, a girl still had needs, and Ramsay was hers to do as she willed with. It was an awful way to think, Sansa knew deep down, but she would not be denied either. If she couldn't get Ramsay to like it, he'd still give her the dues she deserved to take care of him. She had spared his life after everything he'd done, and even he had openly admitted his life was forfeit the day they had taken back the keep. It was fair to say Ramsay owed her this much. Besides, he was still her husband technically, and in that regard, it was still Ramsay's place to please her sexually. The back of Sansa's mind told her this was flimsy logic, but her lust agreed with it wholeheartedly.

These thoughts had Sansa's eyes grazing over Ramsay hungrily, but she restrained any action that would anyway denote such feelings as she stated in a clinical fashion, "I want you to lie on your back for me and leave your knees up, Ramsay."

Ramsay's eyes depicted the uneasiness he felt as they flicked up to regard her imploringly, but he didn't disobey as he gulped back his trepidation moving first to sit and then to slowly lay onto his back as she'd bid him to do. His jaw clenched in his apprehension as his sights moved to the ceiling and his knees drew together reflexively.

Sansa lightly placed the small length of bark across Ramsay's stomach now as she rose.

Ramsay's ears were perked and attentive to the sounds of the folds of her dress being situated, so Sansa could climb further onto the bed and in between his legs, and when her knees, one by one, sunk into the bed, Ramsay couldn't help but to grow tense with dread. His heartrate jumped into a flurry as blood rushed and pumped furiously in his ears; the heat returned to his face now as Sansa gently applied a light pressure to his inner thighs to open him to her.

His gaze shifted from the ceiling back to her now as Sansa reached under him picking his bottom up off the bed and pulling him forward to flatten out his body. Inadvertently in his nervousness, he'd kinked his spine aiming his ass down into the bed to make himself less accessible. This small act of defiance didn't rile Sansa though as she knew Ramsay was only acting out of fear not disrespect towards her.

Sansa took the strip of bark off of Ramsay's stomach and placed it in front his ass. His body had begun to shiver now as Ramsay's anxiety built, and Sansa pushed with a light firmness on his knees to guide them towards his chest and elevate his entrance for her to better see him, "Hug your knees to your chest for me."

Ramsay limply wrapped his arms around his legs feeling so wholly exposed. Knowing how he must look to her was humiliating enough to make his eyes water as Ramsay sucked in a ragged breath willing this experience to already be at an end. Sansa's fingertip was touching him there again, but the manner in how she did so was just as gentle as she had been in the bathtub. Her finger left him and returned to lightly dab the pasty substance gently on his swollen flesh as Sansa rubbed small circles into the sensitive skin to work the ointment in well.

Seeing Ramsay splayed to her like this brought back memories of fucking him and how good it had felt. The fact that he was unchained and willing to put himself in this position at her command was enough to excite her as a twinge rose through Sansa's nether regions; she did her best to ignore these animalistic urges and concentrate on just tending to the angry red swelling he was suffering from. The sight of the damage helped to calm the fires that were stoking within her as she thought about how sore he must still be. She grimaced letting out a soft sigh, "I'm done, Ramsay. You can lower your knees and relax now."

Ramsay was more than happy to comply as he let go of his knees and dropped his feet back down onto the mattress. He let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding feeling an inner relief to know she wasn't going to need to probe him in any fashion while applying the ointment. The mixture she'd placed on him had a cooling affect that Ramsay had to admit felt nice on the aggrieved area. It still burned a reminder of all that he'd endured, and although he had healed much since the initial brutalization of that horrid night-long event, Ramsay was still nowhere near fully healed.

Sansa moved from between Ramsay's legs and laid the remainder of the tincture down on the floor. As she'd moved from the bed, Ramsay tentatively brought his legs to lay flat once more his eyes following her motions as she readjusted the fur blanket from the floor once more over his body. He was surprised that she wasn't ordering him to be chained; he was of course grateful that she was granting him freedom of movement for the time being even if it wasn't to be for very long.

The show of trust in him while she tended and groomed him meant more than she could know. Ramsay shifted onto his side exhaling deeply feeling oddly centered and content from the day's interactions with her. She could have hurt him severely or had been cruel at many junctures the past couple hours they'd been in each other's company, but she had stopped when she saw she was going to hurt him this time and granted Ramsay mercy. What was more compelling to him was the fact that she now showed him a continued stream of tenderness to make him feel at ease for the simple sake of helping him to feel better over having brought him to the brink prior. Compassion was an unfamiliar concept to Ramsay, but he found that he appreciated it wholeheartedly when given to him.

Sansa sat behind him now her weight bearing down on the mattress enough for gravity to move their bodies to touch where her hip ran flush against his shoulders. Sansa noted he didn't stiffen this time; it sent a wave of pleasure through her to feel his distress uncoil as his body grew lax next to her. Ramsay's trust in her was strengthening. He seemed so eager to please her now; it was a good sign. She'd crushed him, but at the rate their connection was evolving, she didn't see it taking long to cultivate healing to counter the devastation she'd caused him and hopefully mend him in a manner he could become a better person through her kindness and direction.

She peered down at him, and Ramsay began to turn to bring his eyes to attend her fully, but her hand on his shoulder stayed his movement, "You need not stress yourself; just rest." Her hand slipped from his shoulder down the length of his neck and to his hairline as she gently pushed each strand delicately behind his ear and away from his face. Her touch left him inert as his mind lulled focusing only on the way her fingers caressed him and how that touch sent vibrations of pacification into his inner depths.

His eyes fixated on a point on the wall as Ramsay's thoughts overloaded his mind in a whir of events in his life leading up to the present that seemed to blend and fragment in his mind's eye. He found it hard to concentrate on anything except her; some small part of his old self rose to question the validity of this existence and whatever the hell he'd become, but every other part of Ramsay that wholly wanted this kind of attention served to beat that voice into obscurity. He didn't care what he was becoming, it didn't matter anymore. Sansa was him filling with a growing sense of adoration towards her for the nurturing affection she continued to grant him and the emotions she now stirred in him that had hid so long from the light of day. Ramsay hadn't understood what love was, and although warped, he was beginning to feel a blossoming of it for her now.

Sansa continued to study Ramsay's face as she smoothed fingers fondly through his hair, the expression on his face looked so serious, and she had to wonder what was going through his head, "You look as though you've gone somewhere else, Ramsay. Care to share your thoughts with me?"

It was the first time she had asked him something over simply stating it, and Ramsay's mind took this courtesy in. His eyes remained staring off in the distance now as he spoke, "I… I don't know what to say." He moved now on to his back to stare up at her with solemnity, "I'm here with you, my lady, and only you. What you do with me now… your will is my own. I would swear fealty to you now if you would but let me."

Sansa regarded Ramsay seeing the earnest plea in the way his eyes pierced into her; she didn't doubt he was being honest with her. Her chest tightened as she felt her heart beating fiercely; she gave a slight nod and responded as calmly as she could manage although her own emotions were riding a roller coaster to take him in and the devotion he afforded her now, "Swear it."

Ramsay rolled from his back sliding in to a sitting position next to her before slipping off of the bed and down onto his knees before her. He bowed his head in deference before bring pale blue eyes up to look at her as if to look at her now was sipping of the finest ambrosia, "Lady Sansa, I swear my life and all that I am to you. I am yours completely," Ramsay lowered his head to rest on her knees.

Sansa was silent simply reaching out to stroke him once more in her awe. She was taken aback but the gesture and was doing her best to remain ceremonially still so as not to take away from the levity of what Ramsay had just vowed to her. She remained for a long moment with his head laid in her lap as she stared down at the sight of Ramsay bowed before her on his knees in supplication for her favor. It left her flushed and heady; it was a sight she liked seeing Sansa had to admit.

Regaining her wits, Sansa took in a deep breath as she swept a hand down the side of Ramsay's face to rest gently under his chin and lifted his face to lock eyes once more, "This pleases me, Ramsay. I will take you completely, and if you serve me well, I will cherish you."

She felt him swallow hard against her palm as he gaped at her not unlike a devote priest prayed at the altar, "I will serve you like no other," he stated passionately.

Sansa's lip tugged into a small smile as her other hand swept the hair clear from his forehead, and she leaned down to plant a soft kiss on Ramsay's brow. As she did so, she felt his body give a pulsed shudder as he drew in a deep breath. When she pulled away, his eyes were closed and opened with slow blinks as he watched her intently. Sansa let her hand slip from his face as she stood to tower above his kneeling form and stated with the command of a queen, "Rise."

Ramsay was quick to comply raising fully to stand at attention looking up at her expectantly. Once he had done so, she gave him a small nod, "I have food coming for us, but I think you've proven to me that I don't need to keep you here chained to your bed anymore. I think instead I will have us dine elsewhere after I've afforded you some clothes. You aren't going to make me regret giving you such freedoms are you, Ramsay?"

Ramsay shook his head quickly, "No, lady Sansa. I am grateful for any leniency you bestow upon me!" The prospect that she would give him clothes and that she spoke now of him attending her sang to his heart that she would give him such an opportunity. He wanted nothing more than to be at her side.


	10. Fine Dining

(As always, I want to say thank you for all those that have taken the time to comment on my work. You really inspire me to continue writing, and I hope this next install sends you to a happy place! :P)

Chapter Ten

Fine Dining

Sansa had left Ramsay standing next to his mattress with the words, "I'll send for you when I am ready for your company. A servant will bring you some of your personal effects to join me…" Sansa had paused then looking Ramsay up and down before continuing curtly, "A pity as I do rather prefer you without clothes, but then, I'd rather keep some of your modesty for me and me alone. I suppose if I really want to see the full of you badly enough, I can always just rip your garments from you now can't I?" It was a rhetorical question Ramsay realized as he blanched observing that Sansa's lips had parted to reveal a playful devilish smirk. The statement was meant to take Ramsay off guard and although not said hatefully, in fact it was said rather lasciviously, it had been meant as a reminder that he belonged to her and that this new arrangement did not grant him any sort of reprieve from her wants and desires of him.

Her words now tended to strike him speechless Ramsay found as the mental image of her divesting him of his clothes in such a severe fashion served as a reminder that he stood before her already bared. Ramsay had fidgeted giving her a dutiful nod before bowing his head and murmuring a soft, "Yes, my Lady." There wasn't much else he could say; the actuality of his situation was that whatever Sansa deemed was to be his fate was his reality although Ramsay quietly hoped she'd never find such a threat to be more than words to satisfy her.

The turnaround of taking from him in such a way and the way it made Ramsay flinch slightly to hear her speak of such a possibility served to excite Sansa. She didn't wish to hurt him any longer, but to toy with him and make Ramsay uncomfortable still seemed to pull at Sansa in a way that gave her an inner satisfaction to behold. She remembered that first afternoon in the dungeon with him, the way he'd clenched when she'd sheared the pants from his body and tore them away with a single yank. It was odd that those memories that had been tinged with hating everything that Ramsay had done had awakened a want in her converting that hate into lust for the things she now wanted to see done to him.

He'd torn her clothes from her their wedding night to take her forcibly, and it had been awful, but the sudden thought of doing the same to him now served to turn her on. Ramsay's nudity was not even the highlight of what was arousing her; what spurred her sex was the thoughts of claiming him in such a way as he had her that night, a justifiable retribution of seeing her own pain suffered reflected back on to him was now a desirable fantasy. She imagined the shocked look on Ramsay's face for her to powerfully bend him over a table or the bed, the small noises he might make as he was pushed down flat into position for her, and in this mental captivation, Sansa saw herself already brandishing her glass cock under her skirts as a private surprise and further shock to Ramsay to be so ready to demand her dues of him. It cultivated a lovely imagery that sent a shiver down her spine as Sansa found herself swelling and moistening with desire within the brief moment the vision graced her thoughts.

He would willing subject himself to her as he had sworn himself mind and body; she would have both. His body was easier to have of course because she could do as she pleased with him physically on a whim, and that was enticing, but not as much as Ramsay readily giving her his word to want to serve her on his own accord. Sansa didn't doubt his conviction, but she also wasn't reckless enough to assume she had Ramsay wholly at such an early juncture (even if he did seem more than eager to please or believed as much himself.) The past couple days had been enlightening, but there was still so much mystery laying in unspoken silence between them. He was fire, and if she wasn't careful, she could very well get burned.

Sansa had been satisfied with Ramsay's deference drinking him in a moment longer before turning to exit the dungeon.

Ramsay had watched her go, (as he tended to do doggedly now) and waited impatiently to be 'fetched' as the two guards that had remained continued to watch him with a distrustful glare. She may have trusted him well enough, but these men seemingly did not.

Ramsay couldn't blame them, and a bit of his old self chimed in the back of his mind that they were right not to trust him. He'd played so many games with people, and for all they knew, he could have been weaving such a game now. He wasn't above it, but the thought of betraying Sansa in such a way now served to make Ramsay feel ill with both fear of her retribution and something else… fear of losing this newfound connection that they were forming.

All those formative years that he'd reached out for a nurturing touch, Ramsay had been ignored and denied until he'd turned away from the want of it completely, hatefully so, as the lack of affection swelled in him a desire to passionately instill the opposite in those that displeased him. Pain was a tool he wielded well to mold his victims to conform to his demands through mutilation and horror. He'd been brutal and vicious when he shattered them where Sansa had been tempered and exact with him. Her methods served their purposes of breaking Ramsay while leaving him physically whole (which was more than he'd done for any of his victims save her, and that had only been because his father, Roose, had forbade it. She was meant to provide him an heir and a solid hold over the north, to harm her would have lost allegiances.)

Sansa was more artful than Ramsay without having a need to maim him to ensure his loyalty to her; she kept him devoted by giving him something far more damning a consequence with the unspoken threat to simply revoke her kindness when dealing with him. The thought of her going back to those first couple days of cruelty and indifference was more than enough to keep Ramsay in line now. She had hammered in a need to respect and dread her wrath, but more so she'd instilled a curiosity and astonishment in him that even with such a firm hold over his every action, she didn't need to be unsympathetic or callous to him.

Ramsay had built so many walls and buried the want to be cared for so deeply that he'd even fooled himself into believing he was untouchable and infallible to any desire or need for the affection that all social creatures crave. He had been wrong; those emotions had been secreted away to a safe place within him and unearthed by her when she'd made his weak foundation crumble to dust. In the wake of his downfall when Ramsay had felt he had nothing of himself left, on the verge of snapping not unlike Theon had when Ramsay had taken his manhood; Sansa had surprised Ramsay by bothering to stop long enough to cauterize the remains of his devastated composure where she could have chosen to destroy Ramsay wholly. Mercy in this way was alien to him, and it was because of this compassion that Ramsay had become so enthralled with her.

The stillness in the dungeon was palpable; as Ramsay waited now feeling a tad awkward in the semi-freedom he'd been granted. Being chained down had made it easier to endure this new status as it was made apparent Ramsay had no ability to choose anything by the way he was manacled even if he'd tried; this, 'in between state' of submission from him, brokered an acute awareness to where he now socially stood and that he was making the decision to submit to it himself. It was… humbling.

He found the idea of exiting the dungeon cause for both elation and trepidation now. Freedom in such a way was a privilege, but so much had changed for him since he was last on the other side of that wall that the unfamiliarity that threatened to greet him now vexed Ramsay greatly.

His thoughts shifted to the door as one of the castle's servants entered carrying a noble set of clothing given to him by his father after Ramsay had been made a true Bolton. It was of a fine fabric that as a bastard he'd never had the privilege of wearing; it had been above his station, and Roose had always made sure in such small details that Ramsay was well aware of his standing. What was worse was it wasn't even malicious intent by Roose but rather a technical protocol.

To look at the outfit now being neatly laid across the mattress he'd spent the past couple days tied down on facing various degrees of defeat put his current position further into perspective. Sansa wanted him dressed in finery even to stand at her side as her servant. Ramsay dressed mulling over how he would be perceived by any who knew the truth; (which would likely be anyone he encountered here at the keep) it made him feel akin to a doll Sansa was playing dress up with, all presentation with no actual clout. He'd spent half of his life trying to attain the status of his birth right, and to now be given it in clothes alone felt like a hollow mockery.

Ramsay clenched his jaw considering it could have been worse… at least he was being given clothes at all; she could have made him walk about the castle as he was currently. That would have been horrible, and he was relieved that that was not to be the case. Ramsay knew even though she'd said it was to keep his modesty for her, he assumed it was also for all those in the castle who wouldn't want to be subjected to his nudity, and for this, he was glad Sansa was a bit more on the proper side and cared what others thought. He'd let Theon remain clothed, but it wasn't due to his own kindness over the fact that Roose would not have tolerated it.

The clothes could have been the rags of a servant (which Ramsay would have actually preferred.) It would have left him less noticeable to any that regarded him at her side, and in his current placing the less noticed he was the better. As it was, those that didn't recognize his face would still take notice of the clothing and put two and two together. Word spread faster than disease in Winterfell, and in this way, Ramsay knew he would be further reminded of his fall to house Stark. It was just another crown of shame he'd have to wear. Not that the house Bolton's family hadn't already bent a knee to the Starks prior to this event, but then after everything, was he even still considered a Bolton? These were thoughts best not dwelt on because no good could come of them Ramsay realized grimly.

Once dressed, the servant moved around him to adjust any of the fittings as was par usual for noble clothing that tended to be entirely too complicated for one person to don without assistance of some sort from a servant. Ramsay stood stock still as the servant woman moved around him gently pulling here and there and buttoning and clasping the remaining adornments before giving a nod to the guards, "He is ready for Lady Stark. She asked that he be brought to the study for her." The servant backed away seemingly relieved that her task having anything at all to do with Ramsay had been fulfilled.

Ramsay could practically smell the fear rippling off the girl in waves, and a small part of him was satisfied that not everyone regarded him to be of no consequence (not that it did him any good to have this servant girl's unease, but it did make him feel a little less weak.)

The guards moved forward hands on the hilts of their weapons in a show that they were almost itching to strike him down if given half the opportunity.

Ramsay didn't linger jerking into motion and striding stiffly towards the door. He hadn't walked far in the past week since his subsequent beating in the courtyard, and his body screamed from both lethargy and abuse now as he headed into the hall with a bit of a limp struggling to walk normally but ultimately failing.

One of the guards seemed to take amusement from his difficulty affixing him with a cruel smile, "If I'd have to guess, I'd say you'll never walk right again after the amount of cock you've been buggered by boy."

The other guard gave a knowing chortle of a laugh as they continued down the corridor. Ramsay chose not to look at either man as he held his tongue gritting his teeth against the inner rage that burned to hear these men speak of him in such a way. He tuned them out to think of Sansa which helped to calm him. He had to prove to her that releasing him from his restraints would not disappoint her. He wanted her to be happy with him and to continue to be happy with him. She'd planned for them to have dinner together, just the two of them, and this was promising and worth curbing any anger he felt towards the two men here that spoke ill of him. It was in all likelihood an attempt to enrage him and prove Sansa wrong in giving him the chance for this much freedom. Perhaps they wanted him to fail, and then again, perhaps this was just what he should expect from most that would see him outside the dungeon walls. This would not be a shock to Ramsay even if the thought of it served to distress him.

The halls that he was directed down held very few to walk them although riotous laughter could be heard trailing down the length of the castle from the other end where many of the soldiers that were well enough from the battle drank plenty of mead and celebrated life and victory amongst themselves. Any that did see Ramsay were only servants that quietly regarded him with either fear or disdain giving him a wide birth regardless.

Sansa was sitting in the large rocker next to the fire when he arrived, and Ramsay noted there had been a table already set and prepared to the side for them. She looked him up and down as she rose regally giving him a small smile, "You look quite nice…" she had to stop herself from calling him 'Lord Bolton' thinking better of giving the man the right of that title anymore. The last thing Ramsay needed was any association with power she decided, "Ramsay."

Every movement that she made depicted grace Ramsay thought adoringly unable not to see her now in the best of lights. Her compliment made him beam with gratitude as he gave a slight bow of his head, "Thank you, my Lady. I'm glad it pleases you."

His eyes rose to meet her again, and Sansa saw they held a familiarity to his old self when he'd seemed particularly happy about something. It tended to be nothing that she'd personally found tasteful in the past as it usually related to some form of cruelty he was bestowing on another that she'd been unfortunate enough to witness or some form of bragging that he felt a need to express to her to make himself feel important, but in this case, Sansa realized it was her that his happiness was settling on. She wasn't sure if it unnerved her to have him want to be in her presence so badly or pleased her. She decided a little of both.

Something about the setting outside of the dungeon had her feeling a bit off; maybe it was because he was dressed now and dressed as a noble; it meant that mentally she had to regard him a little differently as a spark of who he had been before she'd broken him down shown through in his composure as he worked to stand at attention for her properly. Ramsay had been taught of course even if he'd rarely used the postures of a lord outside of ceremony for lack of care (and what he wouldn't readily admit to himself was a bit of animosity to act in such a manner for those he thought beneath him.) Ramsay didn't feel that way about Sansa anymore, she was not beneath him and was in fact well above him his mind had been forced to accept after she'd dominated him so fully.

It was the only reason he'd sworn fealty to her as he'd hardly ever garnered another to be his better, save his father, until it had become apparent that Ramsay was to be, as he'd feared all along, easily replaced. It built an impassioned rage that divested Ramsay of any further loyalties to Roose Bolton he'd once held. As he'd shoved a knife into Roose's gut, he affirmed to himself it was the last time he would be seen as worthless in that man's eyes.

Ramsay had spent his life living under that terrible reflection, and for once through Sansa, even though he'd been stripped of all that he had been or could be, (now even less than a bastard) she still wanted him. He wasn't insignificant to her no matter what capacity she had him now; she showed him that he had some value to her, and Ramsay planned to do his best to maintain that value. His mind hinged on that much especially in this new ranking where he was considered beneath everyone around him; it was a terrifying prospect for a man that had done his best to see everyone else as useless outside of his own agenda. Ramsay had faced opposition with such ideals in youth before he'd known his lineage, but he rarely brokered much disrespect after it had been noted who he was related to, and if that hadn't acquired the right response, Ramsay had found ways that did. These methods were dead to him now as dead as the man he'd used to be.

His brow creased in contemplation as Ramsay felt suddenly bereft from any semblance of familiarity of who he was anymore. He wasn't sure of anything anymore other than the fact that his sole purpose was to please the woman before him now, and that would have to be good enough even though the feeling of giving himself fully for another was incredibly foreign if knowingly necessary to remain in her good graces.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Sansa moved over beside Ramsay lifting a brow, "Are you ready to eat, Ramsay?"

"Yes… yes of course, my lady," it was enough to distract Ramsay out of his reverie as he moved into action swiftly to slide the chair out beside her and gently tuck it in as she sat.

Sansa tilted her head towards the seat across from her noting Ramsay lingered behind her still seemingly distracted and unsure of how to proceed. She cleared her throat, "Please sit, Ramsay."

Ramsay quietly obeyed moving around the table to pull out his own chair although he gingerly sat for several reasons but did his best to hide his discomfort as he did so. This all felt so very wrong, Ramsay fidgeted with the napkin placing it in his lap and staring hard at his plate as a servant that had been waiting for the two to sit moved over to pour them glasses of both wine and water before moving to serve Sansa first and then moving to him to place a breast of pheasant on his plate followed by some green beans and a biscuit. Ramsay noted there was no fork or knife, so apparently she trusted him enough to dine with her but not enough to afford him any makeshift weaponry. The lack of trust he found hurt a little although he couldn't really blame her. How could she know that he wasn't bluffing? It was a mark of intelligence on her part to be wary, and in this way Ramsay couldn't really fault her. He was just happy she was giving him this much trust. He cautioned a look up to see she was staring at him now with that often expressionless stare which made him worry what she was actually thinking.

Sansa's eyes softened when Ramsay looked up at her his eyes depicting a sense of loss. She could tell the atmosphere was throwing him for a loop, so she attempted to calm him as well as redefine their established relationship as she reached across the length of the small table to cup her hand over his, "I think I like having you here with me like this, Ramsay, but I would like to see you do more than stare at your plate. Eat for me."

Ramsay's eyes had moved to take in the gesture she afforded him fixating on her hand and the warmth it generated. He found himself letting out a soft sigh as he blinked and nodded. He was unhappy that she'd pulled her hand away, but the smile that decorated her face within the flicker of the candlelight was enough to make his heart flutter and renew the constant feelings of faithfulness he now felt for her. Ramsay complied with her wish all the while steadfastly watching Sansa as she ate her own food. He'd never paid attention before to her mannerisms in such a way but enjoyed to study her now.

His eyes dancing over everything she did was a bit discombobulating and peculiar, but then this whole situation and what she'd made of him was abnormal to say the least. Sansa couldn't help but to think now on the way that Theon had regarded Ramsay similarly and how she'd found it abhorrent then that Theon would dedicate so much of himself to Ramsay after he'd done so many horrible things to him. To see the same behaviors reflected back at her through Ramsay now made her feel slightly uncomfortable and guilty. What was she doing? Or rather, what had she already done? Ramsay didn't regard her with the same level of fear that she'd seen in Theon's eyes, but it was more than apparent that Ramsay had become rather captivated by her.

Neither spoke, eating in silence, but they both watched the other in an awkwardness akin to a first date; it was true that they never had actually tried to get to know each other prior to their wedding day, and every day since had been a nightmare for Sansa until she'd escaped him, so it wasn't as if she had went out of her way to ask anything of Ramsay that he'd not willingly volunteered. She was becoming curious now about him.

Having eaten her fill, Sansa took up her wine glass (she'd been nursing it throughout her meal and had had her glass refilled once already.) She wasn't much of a drinker, so she found the wine to relax her enough now to not feel so out of place with Ramsay sitting here across from her like this anymore. It served to reaffirm her confidence in a want to socially probe him, "The way you look at me leaves me to wonder what plays through your mind, Ramsay. Tell me now, what are you thinking?"

Having been put on the spot, Ramsay found himself shifting awkwardly, "Thinking? Well…" he had been thinking about the curvature of her jawline and the nape of her neck, he'd been thinking about how lovely the soft curls that sat just so atop her head accentuated her cheekbones, there were so many small details of her face that he'd just wanted to take in now, but all he managed to say was, "I was just admiring your beauty, my lady."

Sansa wasn't sure if what Ramsay said now was a copout or not, but she gave him a small wry smile, "Surely with everything that has happened, you must be contemplating much more. If I were in your position, I think that my head would be quite full of thoughts on my future. Does your fate not concern you?"

It did, but in truth, Ramsay had been avoiding such a conversation with her because he was fully aware there was nothing he could do to affect his fate. To be told what only served to indemnify the paltry status he'd already been made to come to terms with was a bit depressing. The only saving grace of all of this was that he was Sansa's, and even that was a fact that he'd just recently found himself to be okay with if only so that he could continue to glean some form of much sought after affection from her.

It still didn't change the fact that he was no longer his own man, a lifetime prisoner until Sansa grew weary of him. These ruminations made a frown cross his face, "I know I'm to serve you, what more is there I need to know?" His temperament concerning the subject was sour not for the duty to serve her but for his diminished role, and his words reflected a bit too much of his mood he'd realized to see Sansa's face darken as she observed him. Realizing he'd spoken poorly, Ramsay's eyes widened as he amended quickly, "I wish to serve you; all else matters not!" This was a lie, it did matter, but he didn't wish to upset her further, and the thought of doing so had a cold chill run up his spine.

She didn't look convinced as her eyes narrowed menacingly, "Your mouth says one thing, but the rest of you tells another story. I'll tell you now, Ramsay, I don't take kindly to lies, and if I catch you in one, I will punish you severely. You don't doubt my word do you?" Her remarks dripped with malice as an anger began to brew within her. Instantly her mind turned to the thought that he was playing her now, and the insinuation alone made her blood boil. The way he'd reacted had reminded her too much of the old Ramsay, and it was a clear detriment to their conversation now.

Ramsay's mouth parted noting that his words didn't seem to placate her and instead only seemed to incense her further. He shook his head numbly as his synapses fired to respond in a way that would make her stop looking at him like that. "I… I'm not trying to lie to you, my lady! I swear! I didn't think you'd wish to hear me complain is all! I meant what I said; I do wish to serve you, I do!" Ramsay swallowed hard; his hands laid splayed on the table, his form rigid with apprehension, as he fixed her with a furrowed brow, "But… but to think of what I am now to you… to anyone else that takes the sight of me in…" Ramsay paused, his mouth becoming a tight line as his words took on a rather subdued tone now, "I …I meant no disrespect, but I can't say a noble to a servant is exactly anything one aspires to become. What am I now to you other than property?" He was well aware even though he'd pledged himself to her that he was more similar to slave now than her servant, and admitting this aloud caused Ramsay's chest to feel tight and his stomach to lurch. The truth in his statements further damned him to take into himself the weight of what he'd now confessed to her as Ramsay's face contorted to display his anxiety on the subject plainly.

Sansa took in a deep breath, her eyes boring into him a moment longer as if trying to root out any untruths he may still be secreting away. Her expression shifted as she took in Ramsay's words and his countenance. She understood why he'd kept his true feelings to himself, but she also had to instill a firmness in her resolve; she needed his openness if she was ever going to trust him, and so Sansa responded in a clipped tone, "In the future, I expect the full truth the first time I ask unless you wish to force the need for me to punish you; am I clear?"

"You can be sure that I'll be more forthcoming in the future, Lady Sansa," Ramsay nodded obediently, but even as he did so, a small part of himself was revolted at how easily her words served to cow him. He had to wonder; had she really taken that much of him? The answer was painfully clear; yes, she had. Sansa had taken enough of him to terrify Ramsay into never wanting to test her limits again. He was curious about many things concerning Sansa, but pushing her resolve to feel a need to punish him was definitely not one of them. Ramsay knew too well by now that a Stark's word would not be compromised, and the punishments she'd felt fit to give him before had fragmented him into a barely recognizable wretched mess of the man he was. The humiliation alone to look back at himself blubbering to her for mercy made Ramsay reel in self-loathing.

Sansa's face softened as she leaned back in her chair seemingly taking him at his word now, and in this, Ramsay found the tension bottled within him dropped back to a neutral level as he let himself uncoil feeling a sudden urge to take a large gulp of his wine before moving back to pecking at his plate thoughtfully. He'd lost his appetite, but wished to look busied to halt their conversation feeling rather out of his depth.

Sansa couldn't help the small smirk that played across her lips to note his nervousness and how Ramsay tried to subtly play it off. His unease with her now wasn't a bad thing she conferred wanting him to be more than a touch fearful at the thought of lying to her. It wasn't until after the moment passed and they sat in the disquieted wake of silence that it dawned on Sansa that she'd been willfully intimidating him without even realizing it. She was again reminded of Theon and worried about her own agenda with Ramsay as she served to cut him down every time he looked like he might get legs to stand. Was it really for his own good and to keep herself safe, or was she just subjecting him to her will for the sake of lording over him? It was both, the real question was which held the higher priority?

It was true that any hint of the old Ramsay that emerged sent an immediate reaction to want to squelch the reminder under her boot heel like a scurrying roach, but on some basic level Sansa understood she'd have to let some of the man come forward or she really was no better than he had been with Theon. Observing his behavior and her own, she honestly wasn't sure that she actually was any better, she had a lot of reason to doubt herself. Sansa wondered if Ramsay had had inner battles like this with himself concerning the way he'd treated Theon, (Ramsay had not; he had felt he was completely in his rights to treat others with the power he'd managed to wrest over them and relished every bit of it) but for Sansa the want to do this at all was something she still questioned constantly.

As Sansa watched him now, she could see the look of consternation etched across Ramsay's face as he fought within himself to digest everything that she was constantly throwing at him. So she addressed him more kindly deciding to try and open a less volatile dialogue, "Did you like the food, Ramsay?"

Her words pulled him from his inner reflections as his eyes drew up from his plate where they had remained since she'd last addressed him. Ramsay nodded, "It's quite pleasing, thank you, my lady," he was careful now to ensure he showed gratitude since he'd gathered from previous words shared she'd liked to hear him say as much, and a happy Sansa meant more of a chance for him to be happy too.

She regarded him now utterly at a loss as to what to speak to him about, pleasantries aside, she wanted to know him in a way simple dinner conversation wasn't going to cover. She wanted more, so she decided to be blunt with him now being they'd just covered honesty, "Tell me something about yourself, Ramsay, a memory that you hold dear."

His brow raised as Ramsay considered her, "A memory?" He blinked as his mind turned to her question flashing through moments he held dear but thought better than to tell Sansa. Most momentous occasions he'd seen as an accomplishment had definite negative connotations to how he was sure Sansa would react to hearing them. Anything regarding his Reek of course Ramsay moved quickly off the table just as anything that encompassed bloodshed. This left for an ungainly stretched silence as Ramsay worked to sift through his memories to find something she might find acceptable. His mind turned to her then, and he smiled a slight blush blooming across his cheeks to think of her running her hand through his hair, another memory he didn't want to comment on. He shook his head, "I… I honestly don't know what to say. Memories are fleeting, and not many I hold a candle up to venerate."

Sansa frowned, "You must have something you can tell me. What of your mother?" It was a simple question meant to spark a fond memory, but one Sansa realized quickly had an immediate opposite reaction from Ramsay as his body tensed and an instant sneer moved across his face.

Ramsay averted his eyes quickly working to regain his composure as a dangerous smile crept across his face, and he finally turned his eyes up to look at her. His entire mood shifted into something unreadable, "She's probably milling her farm… or dead. It's been years since I've seen her, so I couldn't really say," he said this all rather casually and without emotion.

His response was enough to make her pause noting she'd obviously hit a nerve, and the mercurial way his demeanor had changed signaled a warning to proceed with caution. She didn't plan to give up that easily though as she asked evenly, "You didn't really get along with her then I take it?"

Ramsay's eyes lidded into languid slits as he shrugged, "Well enough until we parted ways. She was a lifetime ago," he stared fully at her now with a hard glare that stated finality, "I tend to like to leave the past where it belongs." It was a less than subtle hint that he wanted to move away from the conversation.

Sansa stiffened straightening her back as she felt a friction building between them. She could tell what she was touching on was a sensitive topic and reached out once more to settle a hand gently around his wrist leaning in close and penetrating him with her own stare, "Sometimes that is for the best. I apologize, Ramsay; I did not wish to make you feel uncomfortable; I was just trying to get to know a little more about you."

His eyes moved to her hand cupping his wrist where his balled fist now loosened under her soft touch. He hadn't realized he'd even clenched them. Ramsay regarded her now with a hint of bewilderment as his face went slack, "Why? What does she matter if you want to know about me?"

Sansa tilted her head curiously at the odd response, "I assumed your youth was spent with her and to mention her would be cause to help you pick a fond memory to answer my question."

Ramsay blinked looking dazedly back at Sansa's hand as he went quiet for a long moment. Sansa was about to withdraw when Ramsay finally spoke, "I remember after the harvest, once the hardest of the grinding had been completed, mother would bake from sunup to sundown for the harvest festival. The smell of the bread would linger for the next two days. When she would return, she would always bring meat which she would cook a hearty stew with, and we would eat it in these bowls made of her bread. I always thought them amusing because I could eat the whole of it. It was something every year I always looked forward to," Ramsay's eyes drifted up to regard Sansa now as the corner of his lip tugged upward and a small smile creased his face in a timid fashion showing his reluctance to have shared with her in this way. He was still on the fence to whether he'd given her what she'd really sought.

Sansa could tell he was trying to please her, and to dig that memory out for her had taken effort. The fact it had taken so much to get so little gave Sansa a better understanding of Ramsay than he'd realized he'd given her. She smiled warmly back at him and gave his wrist a small squeeze before retracting her hand, "That would have amused me too I think. When I was a young girl, I remember going to the harvest festivals and begging my mother to run through the maze fields where the other children would play hide and seek. It seems so long ago now…" she stared off in the distance wistfully remembering such simple times when her family was whole. With a sudden pang, Sansa felt their absence acutely now, and the pain of it rippled over her face. She felt the warmth of Ramsay's hand then cup hers, and she lifted her sights to him in surprise.

Ramsay rescinded the hand quickly looking apologetic, "I'm sorry… you looked… unhappy." His jaw worked wondering if he'd crossed a line to have touched her.

Sansa put his mind at ease as she exhaled shaking her head, "You're fine," she smiled gently at him, "I was just reminiscing. Sometimes the past is best left in the past."

Ramsay found his smile broadening for her to have used his own words to reflect an understanding that she had identified with his meaning when he'd said it originally. It made him feel a little closer to her.

She stood, and Ramsay followed suit watching her carefully as she paused to regard him, "It's getting late, and I think it's time I retire." Her eyes wandered over him as she closed the distance between them. The wine moving through her made her limbs feel limber and fluid as she extended them out to gently caress the sides of his arms smoothing the fabric lightly as her eyes flicked to his.

Ramsay's breath caught in his throat as a flush coursed through him. He wanted her so badly, and images of her nudity, the softness of her breasts, her smell, all of her invaded his every senses. She was intoxicating. Her hands moved up his shoulders, to his neck, and up to cup his face as she leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his lips; he let out a soft moan reaching out lustfully to pull her to him.

"No," she stated authoritatively taking a step back, and he froze rigidly with a stilted gulp standing immobilized and staring speechlessly at her but obeying nonetheless.

Sansa smiled wickedly then as she closed that gap between them hovering next to his ear as she whispered, "I didn't give you permission, Ramsay. I touch you, you don't touch me unless I tell you to. Understand?"

He could feel her voice reverberate off of his neck as he closed his eyes nodding his ascent and growing instantly hard as she took another step closer to grab his hip and pull him in to press her body flush against him.

Her right hand trailed up the back of his neck, and her fingers wove seamlessly through his hair at the base of his skull before snatching his head back harshly to snap his face to the ceiling as she nipped at his neck possessively.

Ramsay's eyes flared open in surprise gasping at her suddenness; he fought now not to physically respond to her ministrations as Sansa had instructed him explicitly not to touch her (which was incredibly hard with the urges he was overflowing with; it was a torturous restraint, but he found it served to turn him on even more.)

His jugular bobbed letting go of a muffled whimper as she roughly kissed up the side of his neck to his jawline all the while holding a firm grip on his scalp to keep his head in place guiding his neck to the side for her hungry mouth. His body relaxed, lips parting, as his eyes fluttered mesmerized by the feel of the heat of her mouth sucking and biting at him as he groaned in pleasure. It was an easy sensation to get lost in.

Sansa pulled away from Ramsay now just as suddenly as she had taken hold of him releasing him abruptly as if coming to her senses. He blinked in confusion as she backed away from him taking in a heady breath, "I want to take you now, but I wish for you to heal first. Please go before I wish to take you regardless of your suffering."

Her words were akin to a cold shower instantly awakening Ramsay to what it was she really wanted from him most and how much that was not what he wanted from her. He swallowed hard as he offered, "I would please you other ways, lady Sansa."

His words made her moistened sex swell at the prospect, and her eyes affixed on him like a predator, "Would you now Ramsay? Tell me, what will you do for me?"

He slowly approached her now stopping to pull out the chair she had been sitting in and motioning a hand for her to sit.

Sansa regarded him a moment before following the gesture and gently seating herself. Once she had sat, Ramsay lowered himself to his knees in front of her staring up at her devoutly as he spoke barely above a whisper, "May I touch you, lady Sansa?"

Sansa took in a deep breath and nodded, "You may."

Ramsay never took his eyes off of her as he ran a hand up each calf and up her thigh carefully working her dress up to reveal the smooth milky skin beneath.

Her chest heaved, and Sansa found herself eagerly working her hips forward on the chair to bring her sex closer to his awaiting mouth.

His lip curled up in that quirky smile he used when he thought he was being clever, and where that smile had brought her nothing but grief before, it only made her want to shove his face into her crotch now. He would do so on his own soon enough though, and she was eager to watch him do it.

Ramsay uncovered her fully ducking his head to move between her thighs as she spread herself further inviting him to please her. He could smell her excitement and see that she glistened with it as he lightly grazed his tongue to lap at her mound delighted to see Sansa shiver in response. He tentatively tested licking at her to see her reactions as his own hard on pressed painfully against his thigh as he watched her bob and weave her body to the flickering of his tongue.

Sansa had found the side of his face, and as he worked her over, her fingers tenderly stroked at his temple and through his hair. Ramsay realized quickly by the touches she afforded him whether he was hitting the mark as the closer she got to coming the tighter her grip in his hair. It was almost painful, but this too Ramsay found to his liking especially as her soft moans became more vocal and she finally pulled his face into her tightly to take the sum of her orgasm fully.

He lapped at her greedily on the verge of coming himself as he groaned into her sex with his fervor kissing her clit lightly as her body shuddered with sensitivity and she giggled softly peering down at him with a smirk, "You really are getting rather good at this already; I think maybe you were born to lick my pussy, Ramsay."

Ramsay couldn't help but chuckle at the lighthearted remark as he kissed at her inner thighs and once more on top of her sex, "I've always fancied myself to be a quick learner, my lady." He stared at her imploringly as he licked his lips to speak, "May I… may I cum, lady Sansa?"

She lifted her brow to stare down at him on his knees before her as she debated ultimately deciding he would not, "I will let you cum when I take you. I want the first time you cum with me for me to be inside of you. I want you to tell me when you're ready for me to take you, and I will fuck it out of you."

This admission served strike a chord of discomfort to run through Ramsay at the mere thought of him actually getting off while she had that thing inside of him. It was never going to happen, but regardless, Sansa's adamancy to do it again made Ramsay realize he was coasting on borrowed time until she deigned to use her toy on him again. He grimaced trying not to think about it as he stared up at her mournfully to show his disappointment.

He looked so pitiful, Sansa almost gave in, but she had a plan in mind to get him to like getting fucked by her, so he would wait, and when he did cum, it would be on her terms. She only hoped that if she did have him hold off, it would make the occurrence when she did fuck him that much more positive of an experience, "Do not look at me so, Ramsay. You have pleased me," she leaned down and lifted his chin to kiss him passionately on the mouth.

This act seemed to please him as his eyes moved to stare at her with full attention once more. She kissed him again lightly this time on the tip of his nose, and his mouth quirked into a smile, "Go back to your bed and get some rest. Tomorrow we will get a bit of fresh air. How does that sound?"

Ramsay's smile brightened as she stood holding out her hands in a gesture to help him off the floor. He didn't need the help, but he took her hands anyway just to get to touch her once more before giving her a slight bow, "Sweet dreams, lady Sansa," he glanced up at her through his haphazard bangs his expression dancing with a hint of mirth as he backed away from her and finally turned away to let the guards lead him back to the dungeon.

Sansa watched him go feeling more than a little invigorated by their encounter as she let herself collapse back on her chair. She reached over to the table grabbing her glass of wine and downed the remainder of it as she leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. Dinner had gone much better than she'd expected.


	11. Sticks and Stones

(As always, I'm thankful for all the lovely comments you guys give. I love nothing more than to engage with you guys on your thoughts on the story and what you'd like to see :)

Chapter Eleven

Sticks and Stones

Ramsay's happiness felt short lived as he strode away from the study with his hard on aching in his pants. It had started to deflate as they walked, but the fire she'd stoked within him was certainly not going anywhere. The thought of waiting to cum until after he'd healed, and more so until she was inside of him was more than a little vexing to contemplate.

He'd already decided after having been worked up a few times by her already that he'd not be able to be that patient, and what she didn't know… well, knocking one off in private would help alleviate some stress as well as stave off the inevitable. He had no plans of giving Sansa a green light in that regard even though he knew that she wouldn't likely hold out for too long once she had decided he was healed well enough to use her toy on him. That was a bridge he'd have to cross at a later date, but for now Ramsay would take comfort in the fact he at least would have a few days of rest without worry of getting taken in that way.

The guards were silent on the march back, and it wasn't until they'd reached the dungeon did they begin to converse amongst themselves. The one starting the conversation, a tall brutish ogre with a sloped forehead and a set of horrible gnarly teeth, seemed content in the fact that they were out of earshot of any that might hear them as he spat derisively, "I don't know what that little shit's got going for him, but he's gettin' off too easy for everything he's done."

Ramsay stiffened as his jaw worked in irritation to have to listen to these men berate him once more. He had a feeling that they planned to harass him plenty from the way they glared daggers at him having already mocked him on their way from the dungeon to meet up with Sansa. They weren't indifferent like most of the guards seemed to regard him, and instead they had shown that they wholly didn't like him. Being that they were his jailers, Ramsay didn't have much in the way of deterring the bullying, so in an effort to avoid further conflict, he simply continued into the dungeon doing his best to ignore them. Ramsay took in a seething breath telling himself that he just had to hold his tongue long enough for them to chain him to the mattress, and then they would leave him in peace.

The other guard, of average height but stalky with a nose and chubby cheeks that reminded Ramsay of a fattened hog, just grunted in annoyance, "Yeah, tell me about it. I liked it better when she was treating him the way he deserves not playing dress up and house. Giving that fuck any bit of reward seems a waste of good food and wine. If it were up to me he'd be eating moldy scraps off the floor on his hands and knees."

"It was quite a show though," the other man bellowed to his companion as he hulked forward over to Ramsay giving his shoulder a shove to make him stumble towards his mattress, "Like a little show pony you are! What do ya think Reginald? Does he trot well?" A chortled laugh heehawed out of the beefy man's throat in obvious self-amusement, "I almost wanted ta take my own cock out and rub it a go to watch you prance about pleasing Lady Stark! I can't say I don't mind the view!"

Enough was enough, and Ramsay couldn't still his tongue any longer as his simmering anger became volatile enough that it needed an outlet; he spun on his heel to glare at the man a moment before standing up straight, a playful smirk playing across his face, "What? Are you upset that I've gotten the lady's attention where she hardly acknowledges you? Even in my current state, I hold more value to her than you do. That doesn't settle well with you two does it? That a view is about all you'll ever get the pleasure of seeing of her."

The man's eyes flared as he lunged forward and Reginald stuck out a stiff arm to halt him, "Take it easy Jove; don't let this cunt get the best of you. He's trying to get a rile out of you, but we both know better," a malicious grin grew across Reginald's face, "We may not have the lady's eye, but you forget boy, I saw what she's done to you already, and I know what you've got to look forward to. Us nobody's? Well, we might not get a bit of the lady other than a view, but we'll still be watching you take it like a whore day in and day out."

The smirk that had been on Ramsay's face slowly sank into a twitching scowl. It was true, they'd seen his anguish and his shame, and even if they hadn't been one of the ones that had been actively involved with his humiliation, they had been present much of the time as trusted chaperones to Sansa. They'd seen her naked as he had (which even though them seeing her naked was of no choice Ramsay had to weigh in on, it still sparked a flare of jealously within him), and they'd also seen him get gang raped until he'd cried brokenly in their presence.

The reminder of this as well as the fact Reginald's words rang of truth that they would more than likely be present when she fucked him again filled Ramsay with an incomprehensible rage. Unable to stave off a reaction to the man's insult of not only himself but Sansa, Ramsay jolted forward and threw an impassioned right hook into Reginald's jaw followed by a flurry of swings to Reginald's face that were cut short as Jove slammed a meaty hand powerfully into his sternum causing Ramsay to fly backward and fall onto his mattress with an audible, "Oaf!"

"Oh now ya done it!" Jove recoiled pulling a short sword from its sheath at his side and brandishing it in an arch planning to cut Ramsay down then and there.

Ramsay's eyes widened in surprise as he threw an arm up instinctually and braced himself against the mattress having no other recourse to deflect the sudden coming blow.

Before Jove could react fully, Reginald surged forward grabbing Jove's shoulder to hold him from advancing further, "No! You can't! Lady Stark's orders were not to hurt him unless necessary and certainly not to kill him!"

Jove growled in clear irritation indignantly replacing his sword and snatching Ramsay by the boot heel to yank him closer to the two of them before snaking his huge hand around Ramsay's neck to hold him firm against the mattress. His anger was still quite evident as he growled through gritted teeth, "Little shit already should have bled out in the courtyard where he first got took down. Shoulda pinned him up and flayed em' alive like his kin was so fond a doing!"

Ramsay wheezed out through strangled gasps of air, "Would …that you could… ingrate… but, you haven't got …the privilege," he gave Jove the cockiest smile he could muster which only seemed to make Jove grip his throat a little tighter. Ramsay's eyes fluttered as his vision went hazy choking for air under the powerful man's crushing grip on his windpipe. Even so, he managed to give the man a weakened chuckle to hear that Lady Sansa ordered he not be harmed. That was quite convenient, and it gave Ramsay a small amount of gratification to know how impotent it made these men against him.

As the loss of oxygen started to cause him to lose consciousness from Jove suffocating him, Ramsay began kicking violently. Reginald tugged Jove off of Ramsay, and the monster of a man finally released him with a snort of disgust leaving Ramsay to rapidly suck in air and cough with a hand clasped at his throat. His coughs trickled into a strained laugh as he stared up at the two guards with a gleeful malicious smile relishing the fact that they couldn't really do anything to him.

"Guard!" Reginald yelled out loudly, the sound of his bellow echoing across the expanse of the room as he massaged his chin leveling an embittered glower at Ramsay. It only lasted a moment before that same spiteful smile he'd afforded Ramsay earlier split his busted lips. Reginald's tongue flicked over the fresh cut that oozed blood to trickle into his mouth, and he spat it on the floor nodding at Ramsay, "That's right, laugh it up bastard. I don't think Lady Sansa is going to be laughing when she hears how you attacked me. I think it's not going to bode well for you at all actually," he gave Jove a meaningful glance, and the other man rumbled out a building sinister snicker denoting they were both on the same page.

The laughter died in his throat instantly as Ramsay imagined Sansa's disapproval and what that disapproval might bring. Reginald's words sank into his gut like a rock as he stared up in speechless wonder at the two men his eyes shifting over to the mess he'd made of the other man's face. To look at his handiwork now and the implications it held made Ramsay's blood run cold.

The sound of heavy footfall came from outside the dungeon as the door smashed open to reveal the man that had heard Reginald's call. He was an overweight young man in his early twenties heaving in gasps of air from the strain of being out of shape and running across the castle proper. He leaned his hand against the dungeon door's frame after it was made clear the situation seemed under control, he sighed in relief his form bowing in an effort to catch his breath. The man exclaimed in a huff of both curiosity to know what was going on and annoyance that he'd felt the need to run when there apparently was no real emergency, "What is it?"

Jove scowled at the newcomer nodding toward Reginald, "Just look what that little shit done ta Reginald would ya? Rouse the lady of the house, and alert her that her pet bastard has gone savage."

Ramsay's brow was furrowed, and his mouth hung open in shock as he shook his head vehemently, "No! This is a trick!" He spat resentfully eyes flaring as he tried in vain to get up only to get shoved back down again followed by a menacing glare from Reginald. Ramsay's face blazed with contempt as he sneered, "You meant to bait me! I'll tell her as much!" He did his best to portray fury, but inwardly, the only thing running through Ramsay's mind was a worry that Sansa wasn't going to believe him.

The heavyset youth blinked seeming unsure until Jove barked viciously, "Well? What are ya waiting for! Go fetch Lady Sansa! She was last seen in her study! Be quick about it!" Snapping out of his indecision, the man stutter stepped backward nodding vigorously before he hurried off to fulfill Jove's command.

Ramsay snarled attempting twice more to remove himself from the mattress only to get just as readily thrown back down upon it. He wished he'd had something he could use as a weapon, but it was useless to even try to oppose these men. Not only were they both now flanking either side of him, but they were standing at the ready with all intentions of not allowing him to rise again. What would he do if he did manage to defeat them? Ramsay thought sullenly as his rage started to abate and the very real threat of consequence began to bear down upon him. Even though these men had provoked him, the fact that he was unscathed and Reginald wasn't meant Sansa was very likely going to punish him.

Brooding now, Ramsay grew quietly still as he stared hard at the floor; a sense of powerlessness overtook him to realize he was incapable of stopping the tide he'd set in motion by reacting at all. He'd told himself to ride out their insults, but they'd made him so livid! They didn't have the right to look down on him, useless wastes that they were, and yet here he was awaiting judgement for defending himself against their supposed merit.

Reginald and Jove disregarded Ramsay now continuing to exchange short pleasantries about going out to have a good time at the Wildling camps (apparently they had moonshine unlike any other and were more than willing to share it with these men. Why Ramsay had no idea, heathen idiots that they were, but then, these were Wildlings they were commenting about and most assuredly of the same mental capacity Ramsay decided offhandedly.) Hearing enough, Ramsay tuned them out into no more than white noise; he had bigger problems now, and listening to them prattle on had caused him enough trouble already. He needed to refocus and prepare himself to face Sansa.

Long minutes ticked by, and finally Sansa did arrive. Ramsay glanced up to take in her presence, noticing concern on her face as she looked about the room and its occupants. As she took in the damage to Reginald's face, her expression grew stony eyes flashing heatedly back over to Ramsay as she came to a stop in front of him, "What's the meaning of this, Ramsay?"

He'd prepared an explanation in what he thought were eloquent words, but as Ramsay now stared up at her to see her fury, it was as if his mind shut down blacking out his reason. Ramsay opened his mouth to speak, and it hung open a moment before he closed it in a thin line his eyes darting back and forth aiming his venom at each guard individually to muster his resolve before staring back up to Sansa earnestly, "It's not what it seems, Lady Sansa! They mocked and ridiculed me, so I acted on my own account. My honor demanded it!"

Sansa's eyes narrowed, "Your honor?" The words were said with an unbelieving tone that made Ramsay wince at the implication. He tightened his jaw listening as she continued flatly, "So you're telling me that you hit this man for calling you names? You bloodied his face, not over something deemed as life threatening to your person, but simple words that riled your pride?"

It wasn't hard to tell that he'd disappointed her. Ramsay grimaced, his eyes dropping to the floor as a ripple of fear coursed through him. He was deathly afraid of what she might do to him now and began to tremble in remembered fear. Ramsay hated that he couldn't help the immediacy of these unbidden feelings assailing him like whiplash.

She was waiting for a response, and Ramsay ran a hand through his hair in his nervousness before finally nodding in affirmation as he stared up at her with all seriousness, "Yes… I did." If he was going to be punished, Ramsay thought he'd at least get a small jab in, "I'm not in the habit of suffering taunting without recourse especially coming from lowborn commoners such as these men." The jeer had its intended affect causing both men at his sides to visibly bristle in an obvious want to counter his words or throttle him. They remained still though, respectively silent in their lady's presence knowing she had the floor now, but the annoyance on their faces was well observed.

Sansa had taken note of the barb Ramsay threw at her guards out of spite, but she didn't choose to address it at the moment. Ramsay would be facing her ire shortly, and although he wasn't aware of it now, he would be well aware later how such a comment would cost him.

She didn't like the idea of these men harassing Ramsay, and taking in their smug anticipation upon her arrival, she had reason to believe Ramsay was telling the truth. But, she couldn't have Ramsay lashing out physically whenever he lost his temper. His ferocity was already well renowned as well as his propensity for violence. It had to be nipped in the bud indisputably.

His hostility was something Sansa could not and would not tolerate from him not only because it brought him closer to the old Ramsay she despised, but because such prideful actions would eventually get the man killed if he provoked the wrong person now that he was considered a prisoner and not a lord. She took a step back regarding him coolly, "Come here, Ramsay."

Ramsay found himself slowly sliding off of the mattress as he wove his hands to clasp together in his trepidation. His palms felt clammy, and a wave of prickled numbness washed over him as he complied with Sansa's request. His guts twisted sickeningly as he approached her; he was terrified, but he did not beg for her forgiveness to try to save himself from whatever possible fate he would be made to endure or at least lessen its harshness. His dignity wouldn't allow him to debase himself like that especially in front of these men watching him now.

Unlike previously, Ramsay was not deluded that he'd walk away from this encounter with his ego intact. In fact, he was more than sure by the time all was said and done he would be pleading for forbearance as he'd done every other time Sansa had deemed to discipline him. It was another humiliation he would have to bear, but until that weakness was torn from him, he'd not give in to such pandering. Even so, Ramsay no longer fought Sansa; he'd moved past that to the point of regretful acceptance as he stood head bowed before her.

Sansa watched his advance noting his body language held no resistance to her; she should be wary of him, but strangely, she wasn't. As she refocused to remove his clasps and adornments, she sensed that he would bend to her will readily by the posture he granted her. She unbuttoned his cuffs guiding him gently to turn around as she then released the clips going up his neck to loosen the fabric enough for Ramsay to undress. "I need you to take off your clothes now, Ramsay," she commanded gently, and he silently obeyed.

Sansa glanced up to see the two guards were watching them with more than a little interest. Their smiles gave way to a sadistic joy of anxiously awaiting to see what she would do to him; they would see nothing she quickly decided giving them an impassive stare. These men would never be allowed to guard Ramsay again, and in fact by night's end, they would be sent to the castle wall as lookouts to bore the cold of the harsh winter, their intended new detail, Sansa elected.

Ramsay discarded the finery to the floor as he once again found himself naked staring ahead at that dreaded mattress, a sharp pang of despair filled him, and his eyes glazed over from the intensity of the emotions he now felt. He swallowed hard clenching both his fists and his jaw although not in anger but anticipation.

Ramsay's eyes darted through fallen bangs to look at her as Sansa casually strode to pick his clothing up off the floor and toss the set onto her chair. She turned to face him her face reflecting that she would broker no nonsense as she stated, "Please climb onto your mattress face down and place your hands and feet in position to be chained to your bed."

His lip twisted in misery unable not to feel sorry for himself as he lurched forward like a dead weight tentatively climbing onto his bed and prostrating himself. His body flexed rigidly, but Ramsay nonetheless splayed himself spread eagle to be chained as Sansa had wished of him. He wanted to refuse or offer some form of resistance, but Ramsay found all the fight had already drained from him the moment she entered the chamber.

Before either guard could take action, Sansa had already stepped forward to begin clasping the irons on Ramsay herself. Once the cuffs had been placed, Sansa straightened regarding the two guards who had stepped back to lazily ogle the scene, "Your assistance is no longer required. I've secured Ramsay to the bed, and I'd like to continue our meeting in private."

Jove and Reginald shared a look of surprise having not expected such a turn of events. Reginald took a step towards Sansa, "Lady Stark, I… I don't know if it's in your best interest to be secluded with the prisoner. He's a dangerous man after all."

Sansa lifted her brow, "How dangerous can a man be chained to his bed as Ramsay is now? I appreciate your concern gentlemen, but I'm quite sure I'll be fine. Please see your way out." Her words held a spike of frigidness, and her eyes were antagonistic stating clearly that the conversation was over.

The two men were momentarily bewildered but bowed and quickly exited without further word; she could tell by the looks on their faces as they left that they were frustrated by her sudden choice to oust them from the spectacle. Good, let them be, Sansa thought incensed by their behavior.

It surprised Ramsay by the way Sansa had grasped his limbs to chain him swiftly to his mattress, and in truth, it had made a tremor of fear shoot through him thinking her eager to punish him. Now, Ramsay realized as he lifted his head to watch Sansa send the guards away, it was because she was instead keen to get rid of them. His heart swelled anew for her to make a point not have those men present any longer. He could tell from the manner in which she'd spoken to them that she didn't like them; Ramsay recognized from their parlay on the battlefield the same clipped tone conveying an underlying fury not to be underestimated. It was reassuring that although her manner with him could still be strict, her words didn't carry the same hostility they once did; Ramsay was relieved they did not.

Sansa waited until they were gone a long moment before glancing back over her shoulder at Ramsay to see him staring at her worriedly. He should be worried; Sansa took in a deep breath before turning back towards the door and walking out of the dungeon briskly.

Ramsay blinked in surprise wondering if that would be all he was set to endure. But, as the minutes ticked by, Ramsay reflected on Sansa's demeanor. From the look on Sansa's face when she'd flicked her eyes in his direction to linger on him impassively without a word said, Ramsay was more than sure that she would indeed be back. It was then that Ramsay began to truly grow apprehensive.


	12. Depths

(Okay, don't hate me! I'm very long winded, and I needed to address a few things before the inevitable you know what happens! LOL! I know what you're waiting for, and it's coming at the top of the next chapter! I promise! LOL! And fear not, I'm working on it ASAP, and I will have an update to follow before the end of the weekend :P Until then, I hope you enjoy a little more plot build up in this chapter ;)

Chapter Twelve

Depths

Sansa made her way towards the dining hall to find Jon only to hear he'd retired for the night not long before she'd arrived. Deciding the matter with Ramsay's guards couldn't wait, Sansa made her way towards his personal chambers hoping he'd still be awake. Jon often preferred alone time, so she suspected he'd likely be available for a little while longer. As she made her way upstairs and down the hall, Sansa noted Maester Medrick, House Bolton's prior raven and message advisor, was leaning against the banister staring down at the dining hall. He was watching the soldiers and nobles from other houses enjoying relaxing next to the warmth of the fire and sharing a drink.

She found it odd that he would be up here alone in the dark, but the fact his face was contorted in a look of consternation as Sansa approached brought a concern to cross her own features, "Is there anything the matter Maester Medrick?" Sansa questioned as she sidled up next to the man to look over the banister herself.

Maester Medrick merely sighed tiredly shaking his head as he turned his portly form to her, "No, no, my dear. I'm an old man, so all of this change just weighs heavily on my sensibilities. I find I'm not much for drunken festivities, but to watch others smiling and carrying on from afar can be soothing to a troubled mind."

"I understand. That does seem calming; I think I'll join you a moment," Sansa stated turning back to look out over the crowd with Maester Medrick a bit relieved that there was nothing truly amiss. She assumed such a sudden change in regime by the deposing of the previous house would be rather unsettling for a Maester as they typically held no bonds of loyalty to any house and transferred to the victor like property in the event that a house had been eliminated. Much like the knights of the watch, Maesters held vows of celibacy and served the seven kingdoms. Known as knights of the mind, they served through being scholars and teachers of the many academic and skilled arts that were learned at the high citadel.

Maesters typically schooled or advised lords and ladies after their training was deemed complete, and for every art they mastered, they held a ring around their neck classified by a specific metal that represented their mastered studies. These ringed chains were worn as a badge of honor to never be removed, even while sleeping. Of course most Maesters were mastered in no more than a few of the eleven trades, so most houses, no matter their size, typically had more than one and sometimes sent them between houses to help reduce the deficit of knowledge.

House Bolton currently had (or did have when the keep was theirs) three Maesters. Sansa was most familiar with Maester Wolkan, who only wore a chain made of silver symbolizing him as the medicinal Maester. He had come to check on her daily to see if she'd been experiencing any symptoms of pregnancy; Roose had been persistent to find her carrying a child to propagate his family line through a Stark. Maester Wolkan was always kind and respectful, a mild mannered quiet man. By the amount of visits he was made to pay her, she could tell living under the Bolton's rule seemed to strain him greatly by having to also tend to Walda Frey dutifully.

Maester Rhodry had originally served under House Cerwyn and was a standoffish sort preferring to engage in conversation with only a select few or not at all. He had seemed rather relieved of the change in leadership of the keep although he was never garish enough to say as much about House Bolton's defeat. He had tended some of the ravens, but his neck was lined proudly in both types of iron rings denoting he was also a prided strategist.

Maester Medrick's neck held three different kinds of rings, black iron, copper, and gold. Although Sansa only saw the man tend to the ravens when she'd walked about the castle, the other two rings, copper for history and gold for coin management were likely less utilized outside of private discussion with the lord of the house. Still it struck a chord of interest within her now as she casually glanced over at the man wondering what he may know, "Maester Medrick?"

The man had moved back to staring down at the mingling people below as she'd originally found him, but as she called out his name, he brought his attention fully to Sansa, "Yes, my lady?"

She straightened turning to face him to give him the same afforded respect he granted her, "Tell me; were you part of house Bolton long?"

The man blinked giving her an affirmative nod, "Yes, Lady Stark, I served Lord Bolton for nearly thirty years. I've been with House Bolton since I left the citadel… was with them. Oh my," Medrick turned back to face the banister as his hands shook rising up to settle on the chain links around his neck to pick at them in a nervous sort of twitch.

Sansa frowned, (even though the family wasn't one of the best houses to serve, they had been his house, and Medrick had served them a lifetime.) "I didn't mean to cause you any suffering Maester Medrick, I am just curious about history, and from your copper rings, I know it to be a knowledge you are well versed in. I would like to be privy to what you can divulge to me in regards of House Bolton, namely of Ramsay Bolton."

Medrick grimaced a deepening frown, "Ramsay Bolton… that one… oh do be careful, Lady Stark. The bastard of Bolton is a vicious mongrel not to be trusted."

Sansa inhaled deeply, she'd heard these same words of warning from so many already it was becoming old hat, "Thank you. I will be careful; I assure you. I ask because I would like to learn more about Ramsay, so I may have a better understanding of the man."

Medrick nodded, "As you wish, my lady. Let me see… eh, where to begin." He tapped his belly staring up at the ceiling lost in thought for a long moment before he began again, "Ramsay… Ramsay didn't arrive at the Dreadfort until he was burgeoning into manhood, around ten… maybe twelve perhaps? Even then he was rather capricious and fowl mouthed walking about like he should own the place around all those not his father." Medrick sniffed in disdain, "Boy was nothing more than a common peasant! It took years of being shunned to the back half of the Dreadfort and Lord Bolton threatening to be rid of him to get the boy to take his studies seriously. If you ask me, Lord Bolton should have beaten out the malignance that festered in that boy every passing day. Perhaps if Ramsay had actually challenged him Lord Bolton may have, but the Boltons never were much for leashing their children, and to be honest, Lord Bolton couldn't care less what Ramsay got up to especially after his eldest passed on."

"Ramsay had other siblings?" Sansa's brow raised in curiosity. She'd heard a lot about many of the different houses growing up, but the Boltons tended to be left out of that conversation into a glossed over generalized history (mostly tales of their gory predilection towards flaying their enemies.) They were a house with a tenuous alliance even though House Stark and House Bolton had not actually warred in close to a thousand years. There had been many uprisings in the past generations that had resulted in the Bolton's surrendering with sons and daughters sent to other houses to be wed to strengthen alliances into a grudging truce.

The Maester shook his head, "Poor Lord Domeric… he had wanted a brother so badly. He was the first to take to his horse and follow the river down to have a look see at the bastard, against his father's wishes I might add."

Sansa tilted her head further intrigued to hear the Maester knew where Ramsay had lived before coming to the Dreadfort, "Do you know of Ramsay's mother? Is she still alive?"

Medrick seemed taken out of the reverie of his tale as he paused to think about Sansa's question, "Yes, yes, I think she still resides in her mill; it's located North of the Dreadfort following the path of the Weeping Water. Lord Domeric told us that he'd approached the mill, but Ramsay had been out on a hunting foray not due to return for the season. Ramsay's mother, seizing the opportunity, was more than quick to pawn the boy off on Lord Bolton when he'd returned from his hunting expedition. Within a months' time, Ramsay came to live at the Dreadfort. Ramsay had grand notions of entitlement from the day he arrived, and I'm quite sure he wanted to be Lord Bolton's only son…" Medrick scowled, "He never took kindly to competition. It wasn't long after his arrival that Lord Domeric fell to a sickness of the bowels that killed him in a fortnight. Lord Bolton suspected poisoning by Ramsay's hand, and if I had to make a wager from the things I've seen the man do with my own eyes, I'd have to agree with him."

Sansa's face sobered, it was no secret that Ramsay had been a scoundrel of the deepest depravities. To hear further tales of the things he could have done and most likely did do reminded her of who exactly she was dealing with. It made her stomach turn thinking if she had to make a bet, she'd also agree with the Maester's prediction. Sansa wouldn't put such an action past Ramsay at all from the length of time she'd spent in his company… at least not the old Ramsay. Ramsay had a lot to atone for, that was saying he could ever atone fully for the heinous acts he'd already committed. She was doing her best now to think the best since she'd already made a point to spare his life, but hearing such things didn't do well for her resolve that he could in fact change. Sansa had to ponder if Ramsay was not turned into the vile person he'd become through Roose Bolton, as she'd originally expected, then where did it begin?

The Maester's face had turned up in disgust, his mind still on the loss of Lord Domeric, feeling no need for further accusation but having more venom to add to the pot. It was no secret that Maester Medrick was not fond of Ramsay in the slightest, "Should have seen the lot he ran with, all of them just as bad and quick to temper as he was… and don't get me started on that smelly manservant that trailed behind him wherever he'd go," Medrick shook his head sadly, "I fear he tried to turn that poor boy from the Iron Isles into the very picture of that fowl creature."

Sansa's brow crinkled feeling a pang of revulsion, "You mean Theon? Ramsay had another man he tortured into submission?"

Maester Medrick sighed looking slightly uncomfortable, "Oh no, this one Lord Bolton sent to live with Ramsay and the miller's widow when she'd come to demand a servant to tether the unruly boy. It was a wonder Lord Bolton didn't have her flayed alive then and there for such audacity. Instead he thought it funny to mock her by sending her back to her mill with the man who slept with the pigs because no other could stand to be near him. He was strong as an ox and quite dutiful although he had troubles of his own. He was said to bathe thrice a day, but the stench that poured from him was enough to wilt the nose of any that came within arm's length. He even went so far as to douse himself in the lady of the house's scented oils! After a stern lashing with a whip, the lout made his way a full turn of the season's later to drink the concoction nearly defecating himself to death in an attempt to rid himself the smell from his own skin. But his smell was far from the worst aspect of the man. He'd been seen… doing atrocities… to dead animals. Ones he likely killed himself through cruelty," the Maester's brow had dotted with perspiration visibly paling in his remembrance of the first Reek becoming clearly uncomfortable with continuing to speak any more about the man out of tact for Lady Sansa.

As the Maester continued to tell her of this other Reek, Sansa's disgust shifted from Ramsay to Roose, "That's awful. What had this woman done for Lord Bolton to curse her and his bastard child so?"

Medrick looked apologetic as if he needed to feel remorse for the action by simply shaking his head sadly.

"I see. Thank you Maester Medrick, you've been most enlightening. I'm sure I'll have need of your services again. Please… enjoy the rest of your evening," She gave the man a slight bow turning on her heel to walk away swiftly as Medrick opened his mouth to bid her a farewell and thought better of it by the way Sansa had spun away and left so abruptly. He had to wonder now if he'd upset her; Medrick watched her form disappear down the hall as his fingers fumbled back to the links of chain around his neck.

Sansa's mouth formed a tight line deciding that she would find out more from the source herself. The Dreadfort was a day and a half's horse ride away. She could take a small group of trusted men that knew the area well with her to follow the river and find this supposed mill. She was reminded that she still needed to speak to Jon, now she had something more to ask of him. He wasn't going to be happy, and neither was Ramsay.

"You want me to what?" Jon's face took on a look of confusion as he tried to comprehend everything that Sansa had just told him but mostly what she was asking of him now.

"I'll be gone three to four days, and I'd like you to ensure Ramsay's not getting mistreated." The look Jon gave her had soured a while ago, and it turned even more disgruntled at the prospect she was presenting him now, "I'm not asking you to have a tea party with him Jon, I just want to make sure men like the two guards I just told you about don't have access to him. Can you handle that, or will I need to take him with me?"

Sansa didn't want to take Ramsay out of the keep for a magnitude of reasons, but mostly because she wasn't sure what to expect from him when occupying the same space as his mother. From the reaction she had gotten from Ramsay at dinner and what Maester Medrick informed her, Sansa was more than a tad wary of what to expect given the current circumstances. The weather was also not getting any better, and under these conditions, it was going to be a tough enough journey to make without having the men accompanying her feeling constantly on edge with a prisoner to guard as well. Besides, letting him come with her would be a reward where after what he'd just done, Ramsay needed to be punished; of all things, the one thing she did understand well was that Ramsay needed to know without question where she stood and that her conviction was solid.

Jon merely stared at Sansa a good long moment; his lip twitched as the vein on the side of his neck flexed in concern and irritation. He didn't want to have anything to do with Ramsay except to aide in his execution, but Sansa clearly held some form of affection for him now. Jon couldn't wrap his head around the reasoning why, but that was her will to do as she wished with him now; he'd already acquiesced to as much. Jon also didn't like the idea of Sansa trekking across the snowy expanse of the Northern territories with the countryside still rather unsettled. Many had expressed their gratitude to have had them overthrow the Boltons especially after Ramsay's recent rash of flaying members of houses that refused to swear fealty to House Bolton.

Regardless of Ramsay's monstrous acts, there were those that still stood against the Starks, the Karstarks for one still held animosity for the offense that Rob had taken off the head of Rickard Karstark for what they saw as a justifiable retaliation. There were others that also were unaware that the Starks had reoccupied their homestead, and to find Sansa outside of the keep may cause an unwarranted attack on their men just to bring Sansa back to the Boltons for an expected reward for her return. Jon shook his head, "I don't like the idea of you out there for days on end. It's dangerous Sansa; you could get hurt, or worse, you could get killed… over what? Ramsay Bolton? It's a foolish errand, and I really wish you'd forgo it."

Sansa's eyes burned with her certainty as she remarked flatly, "I did not ask for your opinion on whether or not to make this journey, Jon. I'm going. I've been through far worse lands than my homelands to get where we are now. If you are worried for my safety, I will let you pick the men to accompany me. What I need to know is, whether you'll watch out for Ramsay for me. Will you, or won't you?"

Jon did like that Sansa would at least give him the call of handpicking her escorts. He knew who he would want by her side, and he was sure that they would be more than obliging to serve him and her in this way. Still, Jon didn't like that he would not be by her side for this trip; she had brought up a valid point at the beginning of their conversation that one of them would have to remain at the keep to man it, and between the two of them, whatever answers this voyage held, he didn't have the questions to ask to receive them. Jon closed his eyes tiredly before giving a small nod, "I'll do it. You have my word."

Sansa's face brightened as she stepped forward and embraced him talking into his shoulder, "Thank you, Jon. It means a lot that you'll put aside your feelings to do this for me."

Jon hugged her back, but he was still frowning over what he'd agreed to as he muttered sullenly, "Just try to hurry back, and please… be safe out there."

She nodded into his shoulder hugging him a little tighter before retracting and giving him a warm smile that Jon couldn't help but to return. Sansa replied assuredly, "You can count on it." She paused a moment before asking, "What of the guards?"

He could tell the incident with the two men that had been guarding Ramsay had upset her greatly, and in this too he nodded although uneasily, "They'll not get within shouting distance of him, and I'll do my best to make sure the men that do guard him won't cause him any strife. I hope the same can be said of him." Jon grimaced giving Sansa a look that spoke he expected difficulty from Ramsay.

Sansa stated matter-of-factly, "I plan to punish him full sore with the strap tonight for his aggressive behavior, and if he gives you trouble, I encourage you to take it upon him yourself to do the same. I'll leave the strap out on the chair for your convenience."

Jon blanched as the immediate visual of her doing as much came to mind followed by seeing himself in the same way. He shook his head, "I… I don't think I can do that."

Sansa smirked seeing her brother, former commander of the Knight's Watch, looking squeamishly uncomfortable, "It has proven to get the desired affect from him. I assure you Ramsay's been nothing but respectful to me as of late."

Jon huffed giving her a frown, "You and I both know there's a lot more reasoning behind that than a simple spanking. I'd rather give him a fist to the mouth if it's the same to you."

Sansa glowered at him, "It's not! You'd better do no such thing, Jon Snow! He's still got cuts and bruises on his face from your first go at him; I don't want anything cut or broken on him when I return!"

Jon couldn't help a small grin at how indignant Sansa had become; it reminded him of arguments they'd had as children where she'd given him that same exact expression. He held his hands up in supplication letting out a small laugh, "Alright, alright, a tanning it is, although you're making this just as unpleasant for me as for him if I find a need to discipline him I'll have you know!" He was teasing her now, but he truly hoped that this discussion was as close to a reality as the topic came.

Sansa visibly relaxed to know Jon wasn't planning to pummel Ramsay if the man angered him (which she was genuinely worried that Ramsay would when he came to find out Jon was going to be his caretaker while she was away.) "Thank you. I'll make it up to you somehow," Sansa assured grabbing Jon's cloak for him as he'd already thrown his boots on and an extra layer of clothing to make good on his promise to her.

Jon allowed her to help him shoulder the fur lined cloak and clasp it as he watched her with a piqued curiosity, "I have no doubt that you will. I can't say I understand what is driving you to go so far for the likes of Ramsay Bolton, but if this is a victory you're trying to obtain in changing a man like him, I will try to help in your efforts. Do not expect a miracle from him, and never forget what he is."

"Was," Sansa corrected her head lifting to stare regally at him.

Jon tilted his head, his face expressing clear mistrust, "It remains to be seen. Don't be caught unawares, Sansa. Whether you've cowed him or not, at any moment that can change just as Theon grew a backbone to defend you, he may grow one to hurt you. I won't lie to you, I don't trust him, and I likely never will, but for you, I will try."

A smile broached her lips at Jon's words, "That's all I could ever ask. I know what he's done, and I don't expect this to be a smooth road for any of us." She paused seeing that Jon was searching her face trying to understand why she was doing this for a man like Ramsay, Sansa swallowed thinking on her words a moment before she added, "I know what I saw in him the day I first met him Jon, and the awful things he did to me… he hurt me every night without remorse. That's why when given the chance, I did unspeakable things to tear him apart because I hated every bit of the man. I succeeded. Now whether I ripped the nastiness from him, I cannot say, but the man I have seen come from the broken mess I created is not the man I knew. I see a spark in him that wants to be better, or at least that's what I think I see… maybe it's just in my own head, and I'm seeing something that's not there," her eyes fell from his as a seed of doubt crept through her to trust so much in her own judgement when the stakes were so high. Sansa felt such blind faith to be foolish, but she found the need to see this, whatever she was doing with Ramsay, through to the end. She shook her head bringing her gaze back to his, "The way he looks at me now Jon… I can't explain it… It just doesn't feel like he's putting on airs or lying to me. After the terrible things I put him through, I think he's honestly too afraid to lie to me."

Jon's hands rose to grab her shoulders giving them a tender squeeze, "Okay. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I suppose even a fiend like Ramsay Bolton can be turned around if you're there to help steer the helm," he said this with sincerity and all seriousness.

Sansa felt Jon's confidence in her, and he helped to swell poise within herself. She smiled once more reaching out to hug him tightly again feeling on the brink of tears. There were so many overwhelming feelings concerning Ramsay within her, and until now, she had kept the majority of them bottled up within herself. It felt good to finally be given a chance to unburden some of those feelings into the open to the only person she felt she wholly trusted anymore. Jon held her for a long moment before Sansa finally pulled away eyes glazed over, "Thank you."

He smiled back at her giving a simple nod before opening the door for the both of them, "I'll have the men you requested by morning. Make sure you pack enough for a few extra days… just in case you get caught out in the weather."

She nodded as she moved to file out, "I will." They parted ways then. Jon headed out towards the Wildling's camps and Sansa back to Ramsay.


	13. Drawing a Line

(As promised, before the end of the weekend! I hope it was worth the wait! =D As always I'm a total comment whore! If you like what I'm writing let me know! It means so much to me!)

Chapter Thirteen

Drawing a Line

The walk back gave Sansa time to contemplate how she planned to approach Ramsay. She had already decided he needed to be disciplined, but previously when she'd done this to him, it was to make him malleable, and mostly it was out of malice to make him hurt. This punishment was nothing like that, and she had to wonder if Ramsay would see the difference.

Ramsay heard the familiar click of Sansa's shoes far before she'd opened the door; he had fretted for close to an hour awaiting her return and what it would bring for him. He half expected there to be a line of men trailing behind her and was more than a little relieved that was not the case. Ramsay had thought to try and explain himself more now that it was just the two of them, but the words seemed to die in his throat as he just stared mesmerized by his own building infatuation with her. Ramsay's eyes fixed on her plaintively, and he swallowed hard at the seriousness on her face reflecting back at him; it was apparent that she was definitely still unhappy with him.

Sansa casually strode up to him looking down to observe the mournful expression on his face. She wanted to comfort him already without even having started to deliver his punishment. He was only defending himself after all; would it really be so bad to grant him a small reprieve? No, she knew that she couldn't because this moment was setting a precedent for every other such encounter. Sansa knew she had to hold herself together and remain strong no matter how much she just wanted to forgive him and let the incident slide.

The fact of the matter was that Ramsay had let himself lose control, and that kind of behavior had to be tempered without leniency. Sansa knew this punishment would need to be a severe thrashing that left no desire for a repeat offense. It would not be worth repeating, she'd make sure of it.

She straightened looking the part of the noble she'd been bred for as she addressed him coolly, "I don't think I have to tell you that I firmly disapprove of the way you reacted with those men, and that because you took it upon yourself to attack one of them, I'm going to have to punish you and punish you harshly." She didn't wait for Ramsay to reply as she moved away from him to the basket that held many objects Ramsay was not fond of.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and Ramsay's eyes blinked seeming to open a little wider at her admission. He licked his lips spinning his head to follow her in his apprehension of the word 'harshly.' Would she take her glass cock to him roughly despite his injuries? She had him strip naked already and lie flat on his stomach, so it was a definite possibility. Sansa would do as she willed Ramsay knew, so he had no plans to ask her, not that he could, as he was already stunned silent by the terror that coursed through him.

As he watched her move through the contents of the basket, Ramsay thought she might instead bring out the dreaded wooden dildo, that although wasn't as large as her glass double ended cock, he remembered vividly. It was the first invasion he'd suffered in that way followed by almost a whole day enduring the object in him cinched with rope to keep him from being able to get free of its penetration. It was a horrible torture; he was still sore now, and the thought of having to go through that again had his heart racing in a panic.

Sansa didn't bring out either of the two items she could stick into him though, what she did withdraw from the basket was the thick leather strap.

Ramsay wasn't happy to see this particular item come out either, but it was preferred to the other alternatives he knew lay within the confines of the basket. That also wasn't to say the strap wasn't just the first implement of pain on the agenda either. This thought sent a shiver to pulse through him as Ramsay numbly watched Sansa move back around the mattress to his side. She was readying to strike when he finally found his voice calling out in justification, "I couldn't stand aside while they insulted not only mine, but your honor as well! Surely you can't expect me to abide such disrespect without cause for action?!" It had been true, he'd been pushed to attack Reginald by his audacity to talk impertinently about him resulting in also insulting Sansa by proxy. (Although to be honest, in regards to Sansa, Ramsay was mostly attacking out of jealousy that they had seen enough of her that they actually could comment on her body. He didn't have her, but that didn't mean he wasn't feeling just as possessive of her as she was of him.)

Sansa responded with the strap bringing it down in a powerful strike that had Ramsay immediately stiffen letting a yelp escape from the suddenness that the strap struck. She didn't pause in her assault now as she annunciated her speech with steady severe lashes, "I understand that they were harrying you, and you felt the need to defend yourself even to defend me, but you should have addressed the matter with me instead of taking it upon yourself to attack them. It's not your place! I would have fixed the situation!"

He clenched his jaw as his eyes darted back and forth internally struggling not to shout further from the intensity of the sting that now radiated across the lower half of his ass. Sansa was precise in her aim lining stripe after timed stripe up the curvature of his rear starting at the top of his thighs where he sat to the highest point of his backside. Unlike the first time, she was careful to avoid hitting anywhere other than this area so as not to truly hurt him outside of her intentions. The steady arch of swats over already tender skin had Ramsay clenching rigidly and grunting when a particularly sensitive area was brought to light by the lick of the strap. Ramsay had been down this road with her before and knew how bad this could be (child's punishment or not!), and as such, his resolve to withstand the inevitability of giving in to the relentless building pain was quickly eroding.

As the blows continued, Ramsay turned away gritting his teeth and sinking into an internalized place to avoid succumbing to calling out, he had to endure and take this like a man! He didn't want to be weak in this as well, but he found his body jerking left and right of its own volition in an attempt to dodge the pain, and Ramsay knew it would only be a matter of time before he wilted in this way as well.

After three thorough layers up and down Ramsay's ass, Sansa noted the far off look Ramsay had taken on even though his body was shaking with the strain of her ministrations and he was letting out grouses of obvious pain, she could tell that he wasn't there with her. Ramsay had put himself somewhere else mentally as she'd seen him do before to bore the mental and physical trauma she'd caused him. That wasn't at all what she wanted from him, so the strap stilled in her hand.

Ramsay let of the breath that he'd been holding as his mind refocused slowly turning his face up to her silently thankful he'd managed to brave through the strapping without folding as he had the first time. Sansa hadn't been hitting him nearly as hard though as she had, so it was a little easier to keep his composure although he was still very tender, and the heat that radiated off of his skin spoke that he would be feeling that way for some time.

Sansa laid the strap across the arm of the chair staring down at Ramsay with the same seriousness she'd afforded him upon her return to the dungeon. He gulped knowing that from the look that still played across her face that she was not satisfied. "I want you to rise up onto your knees Ramsay.

There it was. Ramsay felt a lump form in his throat as his eyes moved away from her to stare down at the mattress. His body quivered slowly complying with the demand to lift into the position Sansa wished although mentally Ramsay wailed in anguish. He felt his internal soreness acutely at the thought of her penetrating him now, but he offered no opposition not wishing to anger her further. Why hadn't he just kept his mouth shut when Jove had pushed him? They had wanted this to happen to him, and even though they were not witness to it as they'd hoped, those urchins still got what they'd sought out all along. Ramsay began to wallow in his own self-pity feeling quiet sorry for himself as his eyes trailed about to watch Sansa move around the bed and hike up her dress.

Ramsay was confused as Sansa moved onto the bed at his side and not from behind him as he'd expected of her, and she'd not returned to the basket to grab any of her other implements of torture. This was something new, and that in itself made Ramsay tremble in anticipation.

Watching Ramsay pull his form up for her positioning himself in clear submission for her to take him as she'd done with her glass cock the first time made a wave of intense heat flush and ricochet through Sansa causing her to instantly swell and moisten. It was then she also noted how he shuddered reactively as she drew closer to him. Sansa's eyes regarded Ramsay with a hint of sadness; he was terrified of what she would do to him, and where that had excited her before, now that she actually had begun to care for him, this reaction from him made her feel nauseated.

She understood the need to instill a level of fear in Ramsay so that he would not challenge her authority, he had needed to be broken from the abhorrent beast of a man he'd previously been, but that level of cruelty was no longer necessary. He needed structure and care now not abuse, and she would show him they had moved past the point where they had started and hoped that she could still maintain the same level of control without such a level of severity. As it was, Ramsay readily obeyed her, and she felt no fear of him turning against her as Jon had warned although such a warning still lurked at the back of her thoughts keeping her mindful of every move she made and every reaction to it Ramsay countered with.

Sansa worked her legs under him noticing the perplexity dancing in Ramsay's eyes trying to understand this new tactic she was introducing and what it would mean for him. Once she'd worked herself fully into position she stated calmly, "Lower yourself down onto my lap, Ramsay."

Ramsay did as he was told without hesitation although his expression was wrought with uncertainty as his worried brow studied her over his shoulder; his big blue eyes wavered a concentrated stare watching her adjust his hips where the cleft of his ass sat high on her right thigh and his groin lay in the crease of her thighs. He felt her heat and his body responded without further provocation causing his cock to swell and press against her. He turned away coughing lightly and feeling his face redden at his body's betrayal; knowing Sansa would be well aware of his hard on had only made the feeling of his embarrassment that much more keen within him.

For Sansa's part, she did her best to hide the small smile that tugged at the corner of her lips to know even though she was punishing him, he still wasn't immune to feel something for her in this way. She ran her hand gently across both scorched cheeks watching as his ass rippled in a quivered response, and goosebumps raised on his flesh to her touch. Sansa had to admit feeling his body jitter and tense on top of her with his groin swelled and pressing down onto her sex only served to further excite her.

She refocused putting her head back where it needed to be. This was discipline, she need not confuse the two with either herself or him. She took in a deep breath grabbing a hold of Ramsay's hip and pulling him taught against her own hip before bringing down her palm in a well-placed smack.

Ramsay's back arched having not expected to have her take to swatting him with her hand, and as her hand made its mark again and again on his already smarting flesh (that only seemed more pained after the small respite) his cock shrank quickly forgetting the attraction of where it had been placed. He bit his lip tensing at the pain and trying to regain that mental state he'd found when she'd been strapping him moments earlier. This of course wasn't as easy shifting on her lap and feeling the intimacy of how he was draped across her with her hand holding his form fast to her.

"Why are we here, Ramsay?" Sansa asked after peppering his ass a good twenty swats. She'd paused leaving her hand pressed against the cleft of his ass.

Ramsay, knocked from his own mental coping, turned back to give her a bewildered furrowed brow wondering what exactly she was expecting from him.

After a long moment of silence, Sansa resumed with four very harsh swats harder than what she'd just delivered pausing in the same place she'd stopped prior affixing him with a stern glare.

His mouth hung agape as he desperately tried to formulate his thoughts past the pain she'd just caused him, and when her hand rose in an arch to hit him again, Ramsay quickly blurted, "Because I attacked the guard!"

Sansa straightened seeming somewhat mollified that she had gotten an answer out of him, but it wasn't enough apparently as she prodded further, "And…"

Ramsay was unsure what more she wanted as he mimicked, "And?"

She frowned turning back beginning to swat him anew with more severe blows to his very tender cheeks.

Ramsay panicked as he squirmed under the continued onslaught, "Wait! Please! I… I don't know! I don't know!"

"What should you have done?" she coaxed stopping in the same fashion and leveling her eyes at him calmly.

His lips formed into a pout and he dropped his gaze from hers realizing she wanted him to spell it out for her. He didn't like this at all, but he also didn't want to continue getting his ass pummeled; it wasn't worth it, not with her anyway. "I… I should have told you," he grumbled barely audible to himself let alone Sansa.

She sensed the displeasure in his tone, and even though his words were what she wanted to hear, his attitude was not. Sansa moved back wordlessly to delivering firm hard slaps to his backside.

Ramsay's head spun in alarm shocked that she had resumed spanking him, he didn't understand what more she could want other than perhaps for him to reiterate it louder. He called out loudly now as he twitched on her lap, "I should have come to you! I should have come to you instead of attacking him!"

The stop and go of her colliding hand had made Ramsay incredibly sensitive, and every time Sansa restarted it felt ten times worse to endure, or maybe she was just hitting him that much harder? He didn't know, all he did know was that it hurt, she was hurting him because he'd severely displeased her, and the burn was sending his head into a harried state of anxiety. The fact that she was still so upset with him had his stomach tightening as he yelled out desperately, "I'm sorry Lady, Sansa! I swear it won't happen again! Please!"

Sansa was lost herself as she continued to strike his ass fervently. Her thoughts returned to Petyr Baelish standing over him with a dagger and how close she'd come to losing him, and he'd not meant half as much to her at that point as he did now, "You are so pigheaded! Arrogant! Impulsive! Ramsay! You foolish man! Don't you see I very nearly lost you once already! I can't protect you if you don't let me! You put yourself in danger when I'm not around, and I've no way to stop one of them from killing you and taking you from me!"

Ramsay was stunned to hear the words coming out of her mouth and even more so as he saw her eyes break tears to flow down her face. Could she really care so much for him? His chest tightened, and he felt tears spring to his own eyes as he warbled, "I… I'm sorry. I didn't…" he could no longer speak as his own tears fled from his eyes, and he began to softly cry overwhelmed by the feelings she was projecting towards him even if abrasively so. The fact that she wanted to keep him alive tugged at something inside of him that had already been awakened by her but that was still afraid to come out like a wounded animal hiding in the dark. He wanted nothing more than to believe in her with every fiber of his being, but he was wholly terrified to feel her want of him now. It was foreign just like many of the emotions Sansa evoked in him, but it wasn't unwanted. In fact, the tenderness she continued to share with him grew like a blossoming seed seeking the sunlight, tender and fragile, easily crushed and cultivated completely by the light she chose to shine upon him.

Sansa had stayed her hand seeing Ramsay's tears spilling from his eyes, and unlike before, he did not hide them from her as she reached out her hand to caress the side of his face, "I'm sorry to, Ramsay. I don't want to lose you. Not now. We've become too much to each other."

Her words caused his body to convulse in another wave of tears although he was filled with a soaring happiness. He kissed her palm thrice over as he sniffed, "Thank you lady, Sansa. It means so much to me to hear you say so."

"Lean up," she spoke softly to him, and he shakily turned his head to face forward and raised his lower half from her, so that she could remove her legs. Once he'd done so, Ramsay felt her leaning over his body to unclasp his left wrist followed by rising from the bed and unclasping his right.

Ramsay laid stock still watching what she did in amazement. There were no guards present, and if he'd wanted to hurt her, now would have been an opportune moment for him to have done so. He didn't wish to of course, it was the last thing he wanted to do, and this trust in him from her now made his chest tighten further.

She ran her hand gently through his hair, "Sit up for me, Ramsay," Sansa's voice was soft and melodious.

Ramsay pushed back to tentatively brace himself on his knees sitting on his heels to look up at her questioningly.

Sansa lifted her dress high enough to climb onto the bed moving on her knees up to him where they faced one another. His eyes were wide watching her circumspectly as she ran her hands down his shoulders to his elbows giving him a gentle tug to pull him to her. Ramsay's eyes followed her hands, and as she pulled him forward they locked back on her eyes. He let her draw him to her easily his breath escaping in quickened bursts as he then felt her arms wrap around his frame and gently hug him.

His own arms reached about her clasping her almost desperately as his emotions boiled over and he began to sob in silent shudders into her shoulder.

She held him tighter tears blossoming in her own eyes to feel his hurt reverberating through her chest and leaked out through tears wetting her shoulder. She kissed his ear affectionately, "We're going to be okay. I told you I'd take care of you, and I will. You just have to do a little to help me to keep you safe as well."

He squeezed Sansa a little tighter in response too afraid to speak without sounding like a complete mess. He'd lost all his composure to her once more, and he wasn't sure how it kept happening, but he didn't care half as much as he thought he would or at least how much he would have when he'd felt far more insecure around her. All Ramsay wanted was for her to continue wanting him as she'd professed to want him now.

Ramsay stilled after a few minutes but remained calmly resting his head against her shoulder, and Sansa was content to let him stay that way as she gently laid kisses on his shoulder and up his neck while her hands gently glided up and down his back. She could feel his heart and his breathing calm into a steady rhythm as the two loosely held each other.

Finally, Ramsay leaned back to look up at her with that haunting intense stare that sent a shiver down her spine, it spoke of a wonderment of her and a desire to be with her. She bent forward to kiss him then unable to stop the tide of her own feelings. He inhaled deeply kissing her back passionately. Unlike earlier, he didn't reach to pull her to him and instead only inclined his lips to meet hers. In his passiveness, he was trying to please her.

He did. She pulled away with half-lidded eyes leaning her forehead to his as her hand brushed back his hair and caressed his ear sweetly, "I have to go now," she whispered sorrowfully. Sansa pulled away from him and planted one more kiss on his forehead.

Ramsay's eyes fluttered to watch her, and when he saw her waiting expectantly, he slid back down onto the mattress and extended his arms for her to reattach to cuffs.

Sansa did so silently before moving to cover him with the furred blanket tucking it around him to ensure he would stay warm. She was going to tell him about the fact that she was to leave in the morning but thought better of it. Ramsay looked so content now as he settled down on the mattress with a small smile brightening his face. Sansa didn't want to take that away from him; let Ramsay have a restful night as she was more than sure the news she planned to share with him come morning was not going to sit well with him.


	14. Until We Meet Again

Chapter Fourteen

Until We Meet Again

Morning seemed to come much more quickly than Sansa wished; she'd hardly slept. As she and a servant packed for her journey, her mind raced on so many possibilities and outcomes regarding Ramsay's mother. Would she reveal more awful truths about Ramsay that she would rather not be privy to? What kind of person would she be? Would she even still be alive and the journey made for not? Of course these were just curiosities and not what had really kept her from slumber; what kept her lying awake through much of the night was the thought of leaving Ramsay behind and what might happen in the length of time she was gone.

Sansa still didn't know fully what to expect out of Ramsay. Up until last night, she'd believed him to be quite docile after all he'd been through, and with her he seemed to still be rather subdued and eager to please (so much so she'd found herself extending entirely too much trust to him.) Looking back, Sansa was more than aware how incredibly reckless it was to have done what she'd done with Ramsay the previous night by unclasping his manacles with no guards present, but when all was said and done, she didn't regret it. Ramsay had needed the comfort, and giving it to him had given her something as well.

Thinking of him now brought a smile to pass her lips; she had in fact developed a decidedly keen interest in Ramsay where the two should by all rights despise one another. For all the grievous atrocities each had inflicted upon the other, it astonished Sansa that both were seemingly able to mutually move past them and find something else within each other to help balance the pain and collectively begin to heal. She supposed there was an unsaid understanding between the two to forgive since varying degrees of cruelty had been passed between them equally. His crimes still quite outweighed hers, and as such, Sansa thought Ramsay may have accepted his place by her side as the best he was sure to receive even if he may not agree it was what he deserved. Sansa wondered constantly now where exactly their relationship was going or really could go. It was something she had to seriously consider as he was becoming much more to her than just a favored toy, which was what he had been to her when she'd first decided to spare his life.

The complexity of their relationship was hard to comprehend for either of them let alone anyone on the outside looking in, and it kept becoming more convoluted the longer they spent any time together. Eventually those of note would have questions especially if Ramsay was accompanying her around the keep (which was also something she planned to address when she returned as the thought of keeping Ramsay chained to the mattress in the dungeon for the foreseeable future wasn't going to be acceptable for her, and it was likely going to be unacceptable to others given his transgressions against so many houses. Reparations would have to be made at some point to mend some of the damage Ramsay had wrought Sansa knew, and perhaps that was something she would discuss with Jon upon her return.)

Ramsay was willing to submit to her, but the reasoning was still a bit of a mystery on whether it was because of her or because of her station dictating how he was to be treated. For Jon's sake, she hoped the latter as unlike the guards that had harassed Ramsay, Jon would remain neutral with him, but Jon also had a lot of reason to hate the man and likely would have a lot shorter fuse when dealing with him if Ramsay was to be difficult. She knew Jon would look out for Ramsay well enough, he'd given her his word that he would no matter how he'd internally objected to the idea; what really worried Sansa was how the two would get along when she wasn't there to buffer any disgruntlement between them. Jon wasn't anywhere near the threat those guards were to Ramsay in nature, but neither was Jon her as far as Ramsay was concerned.

It was easy to see that there was a friction of competition between them (at least for Ramsay) for the mere fact that they were both considered bastards; it was more than obvious from the point Ramsay and Jon had met to the letter Ramsay had sent to the wall (it still turned her stomach to think of the threats therein; with every vile word spilt of Ramsay threatening to do harm in his letter, those words had all intentionally been aimed at Jon and what he held dear.) Unlike Ramsay, Jon had risen to find respect as a bastard through his own accord. No title had been given to him through the mercy of a bastard king, and yet Jon still was held in the highest regard as if he were in fact born and bred a noble. That alone had most certainly caused Ramsay's blood to boil; of course these points had surfaced when they had been dealing with the old Ramsay. It still remained to be seen how much of the old Ramsay still persisted or would resurface in her absence as it had last night. Sansa hoped none, but she had strong doubts as the man always had a willful streak that was more than formidable. She would warn Ramsay to be on his best behavior in hopes her words would help influence his actions in her absence like they did in her presence.

Having finished packing, Sansa instructed the servant to have her things loaded in the wagon before making her way down to the kitchens to have one of the cooks make and bring food to the dungeon for herself and Ramsay. She wanted to break the news over a meal to give Ramsay a chance to acclimate to the idea before she departed. Making her way down to the dungeon, Sansa stopped to grab a comfortable set of clothes from Ramsay's former closet.

It was odd to be back in this room after everything had come to pass leaving the Stark's once more in control of their keep. Sansa inhaled deeply her stomach knotting as she looked about; this room held so many converging memories both good and bad; it was where she'd endured the worst side of Ramsay, but it had also been Rob's chambers as the second largest room reserved for the eldest son. Jon could have taken it; it was offered to him as Sansa had been guided to take their parent's old room, but Jon seemed content to remain in his original chambers comforted by the familiarity.

Ramsay hadn't added much, so the room contained mostly what was already part of the room when he'd occupied it holding much of the same furniture Rob and her family had collected and situated around the room. It brought back enough memories now that Sansa had to pause a bit overwhelmed from taking it all in. She found herself sitting on the unkempt bed still left as it was the last day Ramsay had inhabited the chamber, and her eyes were drawn to the dresser where a pair of flaying knives lay artfully displayed. The sight of them made her grimace uncomfortably, another reminder of what Ramsay was capable of.

This room caused a whole new wave of doubt to rush through her as she rose from the bed, grabbing the knives as if she were handling acid, and violently throwing them into the wastebasket. Her head reeled as she brought shaking hands to her face to cover her eyes and just take a moment to breath. Finally finding her resolve once more, Sansa spun on her heel over to the closet grabbing the first outfit available before hurrying out of the room.

It took Sansa until she'd reached the dungeon to find her composure once more, and she noted that a fresh set of faces stood outside the door. Jon had saw to it that two new men now guarded Ramsay as she'd known he would. She'd seen the men before although she didn't know their names. They smiled and gave her a nod of respect, and she returned their respect with a small courtesy before addressing them, "Good morning, gentlemen. Is he awake?"

The guard on the far right peered in through the slits giving a nod, "Yes, my lady." Without having to be asked, he moved to open the door for her to which she gave a nod of appreciation and moved swiftly into the room. The men quietly followed her in although they kept a respectful distance in case Sansa wished a bit of privacy.

Ramsay's eyes rose to see her arrival, and a bright smile instantly lit his features to see her along with a set of clothes in her hands for him; Sansa had mentioned at dinner about her taking him on an outing to get a breath of fresh air today (Ramsay was eager to get out and about for more than just a stretch and to relieve himself which seemed the most he'd been granted outside of his trip to the study for dinner last night.) His smile faltered though when he saw the severe look on her face. Was she still angry with him?

"Guards, please unchain him," Sansa stated coldly.

The men dutifully shifted into action and quietly moved first to his wrists and then his ankles to do as Sansa had requested.

Ramsay continued to stare up at Sansa his brow furrowed in confusion as a niggling worry began to creep over him. He moved slowly back onto his knees never taking his eyes off of her. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but with the way she was staring at him he found himself unsure if he should speak at all.

Sansa strode forward, her heels clicking in harsh stabs onto the stone floor as she laid the set of clothes down in front of him with a roughness that spoke of restrained agitation. "Get dressed, Ramsay," her voice was clipped and bore the same iciness as her expression.

Ramsay nodded finding himself involuntarily cringing from the aura that radiated off of her. He was quick to throw the tunic on and move carefully to the side of the bed tossing his blanket to the side to get to a standing position and place his pants on (his ass twinged as he pulled them over his tortured cheeks, a reminder given to him before she'd left his presence last night that she both cared for his wellbeing and that he needed to hold his aggression in check.) Ramsay noticed Sansa was studiously watching his every move, and when he'd stiffened and jerked a bit from the contact of the rough fabric across his sensitive skin, Ramsay couldn't help feeling immediate shame as he averted his eyes and a blush blazed across his face from the memory of what she did to him knowing a reminder of the act must also have registered in her mind from his reaction. He was glad that the guards had stepped back behind Sansa and were not privy to see the damage she'd left; the discoloration stood out starkly against his very pale flesh.

His eyes moved back up to study her; she still looked angry with him leaving a tide of bewilderment to course through him until he couldn't take the tension any longer. He uttered out cautiously, "Have… have I done something to upset you, my lady?"

Ramsay's words and the look of uncertainty and evident apprehension finally broke through to Sansa alleviating away some of the prior resentment that had resurfaced within her from the discovery of the flaying knives and the jarring trip to Ramsay's old quarters. She took in a deep breath as she shook her head, "No." She softened further seeing the way he regarded her now; he was standing rigidly, hands clasped together as if in court nervously awaiting some form of ceremony. She'd made him anxious; Ramsay had become very attune to her mood swings, and when she was cross, he became especially wary not to upset her further.

Sansa sighed softly taking steps toward him to close the distance, and when he tensed at her approach, she frowned. She didn't like him to be so afraid of her even if on some level he needed to be to keep him in line. She felt a need now to assuage the guilt cropping within her for making him feel he'd done something wrong. Sansa reached out to grab his arms and pull Ramsay the rest of the way into her to and hug him tightly. She spoke softly into his ear, "Please don't take to heart my earlier disposition. I'm sorry. I… I have a lot on my mind."

Ramsay relaxed visibly in her embrace letting his eyes close in relief; he inhaled deeply the scent of her hair, enjoying the sensation of her body against his, the feeling of her arms wrapped around him, and the encouraging words that she wasn't upset with him as he had feared. The culmination of all these things lulled him into a sense of security. This was nice; he really liked having her this close to him and emotionally devoured the offered affection like an insatiable hunger. The hug ended far too quickly for his liking, but the smile he'd had when she first arrived had found its way back on his face as he remarked pleasantly, "It's good to see you, lady Sansa."

She found his smile glowing his happiness at her brought on a smile of her own, "It pleases me to see you again as well, Ramsay."

The servant's entered bringing the trays of food Sansa had requested, and both she and Ramsay had turned towards the door as they had arrived.

Sansa strode towards the small table stating casually, "Come, Ramsay. I've had breakfast sent down for us." Her words were nonchalant, but her mind now worked vehemently over exactly how she would break the news to Ramsay that she wasn't going to see him again for another few days.

She sat, and Ramsay followed suit easing himself into the chair across from her; he still fixed her with that same contented smile obviously pleased with the furthered arrangement of them spending time together in this way. He had relaxed considerably from the way he had behaved at dinner, his mannerisms becoming less stiff and guarded now as he looked about the trays of food. The servant divided scrambled eggs, some form of oats and dried fruit, and biscuits. Again, he was only given a spoon, but Ramsay didn't dwell on that seeming lost in his own thoughts as he remarked offhandedly, "So where shall we be going today, my lady? The wall? Around the grounds of the keep?"

Sansa watched Ramsay take a few bites and beam up at her with a reverent smile. He was so happy now, and it was crushing her to know that she was about to dash that happiness to pieces. She didn't respond as she took a few bites of her own food slowly chewing to buy herself time, but he'd stopped eating expectantly waiting for a response from her. Her eyes flicked to his, and something in the look she gave him was enough to make his face fall as he looked down at his plate to ask in a slightly bitter tone, "I'm not going anywhere with you today am I?"

Sansa paused setting her fork down as she straightened to regard him fully, "No. I was hoping to enjoy breakfast with you before bringing the topic up. I didn't want to sour the mood. Eat your food, and when we've finished, we'll discuss a few matters."

A few matters? Ramsay's lips pursed in annoyance; he didn't like the sound of that at all, but he didn't speak further since he saw her through his peripheral watching him now with a slight frown on her face. She didn't like him to show any form of irritability Ramsay was well aware even if she hadn't expressed as much explicitly. He worked to control his emotions now, but it only shifted his face from a look of agitation into a pout from the effort.

Ramsay was unable to put on a poker face for Sansa now as his brow furrowed and his eyes stared down at his plate. He moved his spoon listlessly through the oatmeal only taking a bite here and there as he silently fumed that this was likely to be the highlight of his day. He'd hoped the confrontation last night would have been resolved after Sansa had physically punished him, but he supposed it couldn't be so simple. Ramsay was feeling sorry for himself that he'd managed to screw up his outing, or at least that's what he had gathered. Losing control with those men had cost him, and the impotence to do anything in retaliation against them ate at Ramsay. It burned that those two simpletons had managed to affect him then and that they continued to do so even now. An inner hatred that had already cemented in him towards the two fueled into a further burning rage to want to see them in pain. He would make them pay at some point, and he'd bide his time until the opportunity presented itself.

Sansa saw the myriad of emotions playing across Ramsay's face where the predominant emotion was anger, and even if he wasn't expressing it vocally, the swirling nature of it made her wary. She needed to address him before it festered into something worse, "This isn't punishment, Ramsay. I have to attend to something out of the keep, so I'm going to be leaving for a few days. I'll need to head out after our meal to make haste before the weather gets worse."

This declaration stilled Ramsay as his eyes moved up to regard her with a mix of anxiety and hurt that she was leaving him behind. Sansa assumed it was because he didn't want to see her go (which was true to an extent) but the other half of his worry revolved around the familiarity in youth of being locked away until he could be dealt with again. Ramsay hadn't felt this way in a very long time, not since he'd been in a physical position to be quarantined in such a way. Sansa had that level of control of him as well as a growing attachment to her that made this feeling of shunting him to the side that much more acute within Ramsay. He scowled, "What would you need to do that would require you travel outside of the keep? Can't you just send your bastard brother as an errand boy instead?" Ramsay realized the rudeness of his words the instance they escaped his mouth, and an immediate look of shock overtook his features as he quickly amended, "It's not my place to say, but isn't it a bit dangerous for you to be out there beyond the safety of the keep when the countryside is under such duress?"

Sansa's mouth had formed into a tight line as she gripped her fork in clear annoyance, "You are correct, it isn't your place to say, and you would do well to remember exactly what your place is," she clipped. Ramsay averted his eyes to stare at the table his lips pursing and twitching slightly while she chided him. The air between them prickled like ozone as Sansa continued, "Furthermore, I'll not hear you refer to my brother as an errand boy or any other such derogatory term again. I'm leaving you in his care while I'm gone, and I expect you to give him the same level of respect that you show me. Am I clear?" The hint of confrontation brought the two guards a little closer as they sensed the tension and were ready to react in case Ramsay became violent again. Jon had warned them of last night's encounter with the two previous guards, so they were a bit antsy and expectant of a conflict now lending to the building tension between Sansa and Ramsay.

Ramsay's mouth hung agape; he wanted to protest, but he knew better than to argue with her. It was a losing battle that could only end badly for him, Ramsay was more than well aware, but it didn't change the intense feelings of unhappiness her words etched into him. She was going to have that bastard be his warden! As if he deserved to lord anything over him; he didn't even have a title, even if the rabble that followed him thought otherwise! Sansa was still waiting for confirmation Ramsay realized seeing the withering glare she afforded him. His thoughts shifted to her demands as he muttered softly keeping his eyes downcast so as not to reveal his true displeasure of her decision, "Yes, lady Sansa. As you wish."

She was reading the subtle and not so subtle cues Ramsay was projecting that this was in fact going to be a problem. Deep down, Sansa already had suspected so, but Ramsay's immediate bad temperament regarding the way he was to be handled only strengthened her resolve that it was probably for the best that Ramsay experience it. She couldn't be his sole keeper at all times. Sansa was the heiress of the Stark name, and with that came responsibility that duty may call her to go elsewhere, and Ramsay would have to learn to cope with the fact that he had no say to her comings and goings or who would watch over him when she may have to leave the keep. There was a lot he was going to have to get used to, so it was best he get a wakeup call now rather than later. "You're not going to give Jon any trouble are you?" Sansa questioned lifting a brow.

Ramsay's jaw tightened as he shook his head finally bringing his eyes up to face her, his expression petulant as he responded, "No, my lady; I wouldn't dream of it." Ramsay forced a smile, but his heart was racing as he thought of what might happen while she was gone, not only to him but to her. The world they lived in was dangerous, and Sansa Stark was a hunted woman by one of the most powerful houses, the Lannisters, and even more so the person spearheading the hunt for Sansa was Cersi Lannister, the most deadly and vengeful of any Lannister.

The thought of Sansa not returning to him left a churning void in his chest. Ramsay hadn't just said what he had because he wanted to keep Sansa from leaving him; he genuinely did worry for her safety now. To care at all for another's wellbeing was a feeling Ramsay was still inwardly wrestling to understand, but whether he admitted it to himself or not, Ramsay was afraid of losing her and everything she was bringing out of him that left him marveling in a stupor of her compassion. The fact that he even could care for someone other than himself was terrifying; it made Ramsay feel even more out of control than he already found himself.

He was becoming bolder Sansa discerned wondering if perhaps she was giving him too many freedoms too soon. She'd already decided that she wanted him to be more than a shell of a man, but it came to question in her mind what exactly she was letting free by loosening the screws to allow more of who Ramsay really was to come out. She couldn't decide whether this current attitude of his was because of the news she'd just given him or because she was entertaining it at all. Just days ago, Ramsay wouldn't have had the audacity to challenge anything she said; he'd been very cautious indeed. Sansa had changed the dynamic of their relationship again though by admitting she'd cared about him to Ramsay. Was it a mistake to leave herself open in such a way? Would he use the fact she favored him against her? He could, but no, he cared about her to. Sansa could feel it now even though he was riled with aggression, but aggression was an emotion Ramsay drew from like one drew in air, and that too Sansa would temper in time, and it would take time to change that within him since it was such a fundamental part of who he was.

Her eyes and his locked for long moments of silence as she weighed her options with Ramsay. Sansa leaned towards him tilting her head to regard him with all seriousness, "Ramsay, I know you're not happy with my news, but if you can prove to me that I can trust you in this way, upon my return, I can give you more privileges that don't require that you remain chained down the majority of your day. I know this is something you would like as would I. Is that not something you'd like to achieve?"

Ramsay's face scrunched up in a mixture of desire and bottled up impatience, "Take me with you! If you want to test my trust then do so with me in your presence. Surely I could assist and serve you in your journey?" He sounded desperate Ramsay realized, and he inwardly winced to sound so feeble to his own ears.

Her eyes softened, "It's not my trust you need to earn now, Ramsay. I can't have you on this journey because your very presence is bound to cause unrest among the men that will accompany me. You have much to prove to all else that observe you, and that is not something that I can give you or will be freely given if ever given by those that you have hurt by your actions. I chose to spare you, Ramsay, because I think there's more to you than people see and of what your prior deeds have portrayed. I won't mince words with you, you have much to atone for, and I'm going to give you the opportunity to do so through my hand. Do remember, your behavior and attitude reflect on me now because you are my charge, and as such, you have to realize that I have to handle you with duality of my position as well as one that cares for your wellbeing."

He liked hearing that she cared for him, but it was a double edged sword with what she told him now. She was right of course, he'd lost the North's trust long ago, and where before he hadn't cared thinking he'd rule them in fear with an iron fist; he'd lost. He'd lost more than a war though, where death would have been a release from the politics of Westeros, now he had no choice but to bend a knee in the most humiliating of ways as a literal slave to house Stark. Where this hadn't mattered as much to Ramsay in the dungeons of the keep where he'd sworn his fealty to Sansa (he still upheld his fealty to her now), but the reality of the ridicule Ramsay would face in the open face of all others he'd come in contact with hadn't wholly occurred to him. At least the weight of it hadn't been much of a concern until she'd made mention of atoning which brought to the surface the fact of actually having to confront those that had grievances with him and face their judgement in some fashion. Ramsay found the thought of it unnerving enough to make him lose eye contact with her now as he cleared his throat, "I'll do my best not to disappoint you, my lady, although I can't say many will wish more than a call for my head on a pike if you plan to regale them with fancies of having me seek their forgiveness."

Ramsay chanced a glance up to gauge her response to his words, but her expression remained passive as she answered, "I won't let them hurt you… much. Nothing that would cause permanent damage, at least nothing more than I would see done to you anyway…" seeing the way Ramsay blanched, Sansa added, "Although, I will suggest they find alternatives to causing you pain." Sansa's face illuminated as an idea struck her, "Actually, I would prefer you find other ways to make recompense; it would be something constructive for you to do in my absence." She nodded reaffirmed with the idea, "Yes, I'll tell Jon to give you quill and parchment, so you can think on ways to make amends to the many houses you've offended."

He couldn't believe she was actually expecting him to come up with creative ways to punish himself for the assumption of a pardon of his supposed offences to people he had no loyalty to. Ramsay was staring at her dumbfounded, and after a long pause where she raised her chin and gave him a look that brokered no disagreement with the suggestion, Ramsay grimaced miserably but gave a small nod of acceptance. It wasn't as if she was giving him a choice; Ramsay supposed having to come up with a suitable punishment to appease many of the houses would give him a chance to learn leniency, which was something he was most definitely not versed in.

Seeing his distress over her decree, Sansa sighed, "It's not all bad, Ramsay. Try not to think of the worst of this situation and more on the fact that your redemption will ease the North to seeing you at my side. That is where I wish you to be after all, and I'd prefer it be without the animosity of the houses that now support me. You've done many things in the name of House Bolton that have created problems that are not easily swept under a rug. Surely you must have considered that eventually the atrocious acts of flaying people to cause fealty through fear wouldn't eventually cause an uprising of some sort?"

Ramsay blinked; in all honesty, Ramsay had always been rather impulsive led by passion over forethought. It had never really occurred to him that his forces would ever be impregnable enough to have to worry about any sort of uprising, and if one did occur, he had had an army that could easily squelch the insurrection and serve as a reminder to others who was warden of the North. His father had warned him of his brash actions before, but Ramsay had mostly ignored him only giving his words enough thought in his presence to be acknowledged but knowing that he would always do what he felt should be done when the time came because he always knew best what he should do. Obviously that hadn't been the case Ramsay had discovered watching his sizable army wiped out in front of his very eyes, and now here he was on the other end of his loss. Her words struck to humble him now as he frowned choosing not to respond because he didn't really have anything to rebuttal her statement.

His silence was enough for Sansa to know Ramsay hadn't reflected on his actions at all, but from the look on his face, he was now. At least the levity of what she addressed him with was enough to create rumination of what he would have to need to redress in the near future, and that would have to do for now. Sansa rose; it was getting late, and as much as she'd prefer to continue hashing out the importance of Ramsay's prospects, Jon would be waiting for her, and the journey ahead of her would be arduous with winter upon them.

His eyes shot up to her and a wave of uncertainty crossed his features as he automatically mentally moved to ascertain if he'd upset her by not responding, but when her hand settled gently on his shoulder and she gave him a small smile, Ramsay allowed himself to relax to her touch although his face still reflected worry. She was getting up to leave, "You… will you not be eating before you go?" It was a lame attempt to keep her with him a little longer Ramsay knew, but he didn't care. If he could have her only a few minutes longer, it was better than her leaving right now.

The pitiable look he gave her made Sansa melt as her hand moved up to the side of his face to brush away his bangs affectionately before leaning down to kiss him on the forehead, "Be good, Ramsay." Sansa turned to the two guards a few feet away, "Let him finish his meal, stretch with a walk about the dungeon, and relieve himself before you chain him back to the mattress. Jon will instruct you further, but if he's too busy with matters of court, please make sure Ramsay is given time to move about and relieve himself throughout the day as well as receives regular meals. Can I trust you two to ensure that he is tended to in that way?"

The two men seemed surprised that she was addressing them to attend the prisoner with or without Jon's expressed direction. They were new to this detail, but they both swiftly nodded their acquiescence to do the job the lady of the house asked of them, "Of course lady Stark," the man on her right bowed in deference before straightening again.

Sansa nodded liking the look of these men far more than the two she'd had sent to the wall; Jon had handpicked them, and Sansa felt from the demeanor they exuded that they were both capable. Throughout her and Ramsay's discussion Sansa had monitored their facial reactions and saw no negative responses leaving her to feel confident in leaving Ramsay in their custody.

When she peered back at Ramsay, he stared back at her with a mix of sadness and veneration. Ramsay knew she was assuring even in her absence that he would be treated well, and in this way, her leaving only served to twist him inside further. She continued to prove to him that she wasn't just telling him that she wanted better for him, she showed him in action. Before she could move away from him, Ramsay grabbed her hand to halt her kissing her hand gently, "Be safe, my lady."

Ramsay's eyes relayed his worry for her more than his words, and Sansa squeezed his hand, "Fear not for me, Ramsay, and try to rest well. I will miss you, and I'll wish to express my yearning to reunite with you in more ways than a welcome home when we next meet," her smile quirked with a curvature that Ramsay had learned to recognize as a lustful advance.

He smirked liking the thought of pleasing her upon her return, "I'm always happy to serve you in all your needs, lady Sansa."

Sansa was glad that Ramsay seemed well on board to please her, "That's good to hear, Ramsay. I have many needs that need servicing." Her smile widened as she moved away from him to leave the dungeon and meet up with Jon. By the time she came home, Ramsay should be healed well enough to bring him to her personal chambers. Just thinking of him splayed on her own bed ready to be taken by her after a long trip sounded like marvelous welcome home.


	15. Rumination

Chapter Fifteen

Rumination

Jon had scouted out twelve of what he considered to be his finest men (a few of which were trusted allies over actual ranking soldiers.) When it came out that Jon was looking for recruits to join Sansa on her journey, Lady Brienne had insisted she accompany her along with her squire Podrick. Tormund, the Wildling leader, had also volunteered to join the convoy having a want to scout out the area a little better and growing restless just sitting at the keep. While Ser Davos Seaworth, had already proclaimed Jon to be the true king of the North and had readily stepped forward wishing to aide in keeping the Stark family safe. The rest of the men selected were battle worthy soldiers that Jon had fought with and knew well enough to put his trust in escorting his sister.

The group was ready to depart by the time Sansa had made it to the main hall, and Sansa observed that Jon exuded a somber moodiness as she moved up to his side giving him a small nod of respect.

Jon returned the gesture before splaying his hands out towards the gathered group, "These forces are both quick of mind and sword and will ensure you safe passage sister."

Sansa knelt in a formal courtesy to the assembled, "I thank you all for attending me on my venture. I know my call for assistance is rather sudden. Your support in this matter is much appreciated. If you'll give me a moment, I'd like to have a word with my brother before we depart."

The group gave various motions of acknowledgement and respect before filing out of the main hall to leave Jon and Sansa standing awkwardly beside one another.

Sansa studied Jon looking him up and down a moment before she spoke, "Are you sure you're going to be all right with this arrangement?"

Jon swiveled to face her fully as he affirmed, "I don't like the man, but I respect you and your wishes concerning him. I'll mind him while you are away as I said I would." He frowned, "I don't have to like a duty to fulfill it."

She fixed Jon with a warm expression, "I know; what I'm asking of you, to remain civil with him, is a lot considering all he has done. That, his crimes against so many, is actually something I planned to address upon my return," as Sansa said this, Jon's eyes sparked with interest suddenly curious as to what she intended. "I told Ramsay that while I was away, you would bring him parchment and quill to start working out ways that he could make amends to those he's hurt."

Jon's expression shifted into a look of doubtfulness, "Amends? From Ramsay Bolton… Are you serious?"

It was Sansa's turn to frown, "Well yes; you know that I plan to keep him alive, so I've decided he's going to work to make reparations. It's not going to absolve Ramsay of all that he's done, but it's a start. I don't want the people thinking he's gotten away with his crimes and holding resentment towards him or us for sparing his life. This time away from Ramsay is a perfect opportunity to get him to actively participate in his own redemption by having him consider his crimes and work out ways to make recompense."

Jon had a look of resignation painting his features, "I'll bring him the paper to write on, and see to it he is diligent for you."

Sansa smiled; she hadn't expected Jon to monitor this particular endeavor she'd set out for Ramsay, but the fact that Jon was willing to keep Ramsay on task while she was gone over just avoiding him as much as he possibly could (which was what Sansa had honestly expected,) greatly pleased her, "Thank you Jon; I'll do my best to be swift on my return."

She reached out to hug Jon, and he embraced her tightly, "The men that are accompanying you are good men, they will keep you safe, but don't let your guard down. We have too many enemies out there, Sansa." He kissed the top of her head tenderly, and Sansa could sense his trepidation and anxiety that she was leaving his sights after everything he knew she'd been through. Now reunited, Jon had grown very protective of Sansa. Their family line was dwindling and with Arya still somewhere unknown, Sansa was the last living family member he had left, and it would kill him to learn of anything happening to her.

She squeezed him back just as firmly before releasing her hold to look him in the eyes with a leveled seriousness, "I'll be alright, Jon. It's a day and a half's journey away through our own lands. Try not to fret for my welfare."

Jon's face was strained, but he forced a nod, "Go on then. The morning grows late."

Sansa gave a small nod choosing to depart without further words as Jon's expression said all that needed to be said between them. She was already getting a late start to her excursion, and her companions were waiting for her.

The reins snapped jerking the wagon forward, and Sansa's eyes stared out the window listlessly at the keep as they steadily moved away from it. The snow was already starting to coat the ground in a show of typical Westeros winters; it wouldn't be long before it would be impossible to make such a trek. For this reason, Sansa had decided it was a decision that needed to be made now or wait until the spring when the snow thawed. Her curiosity would not hold out that long, and to gain a better understanding of Ramsay at this juncture was critical (saying his mother was still alive or held any sort of relevant information. Ramsay had said that it'd been years since he'd seen her after all, but then, for all Sansa knew, Ramsay could have been lying to her. Sansa didn't assume this was the case, but Ramsay was rather reticent to talk about his mother and may have wanted to divert Sansa's attentions from further inquiry.)

Lord Davos sat silently in front of Sansa regarding her with a curious stare deliberating on whether or not to engage her in conversation since she seemed lost in thought. He was a respectful sort, so he waited until her sights finally drifted from the window to take him in to speak. Sansa's eyes wore the rings of exhaustion, and he felt an immediate pang of sympathy. The past few weeks had been very difficult for her he was more than well aware. Always the chivalrous type, Davos was quick to offer to be inconvenienced for a lady's comfort, "Lady Sansa, you look as though you've hardly rested. If you wish, I can take my leave to ride one of the horses for a bit and give you some privacy. It will be of no bother to me."

She considered the invitation but shook her head declining politely, "I'm fine, thank you." Sansa's lips quirked into a small weary grin, "I don't think I could sleep right now anyway." Her eyes flicked back to the road to see the keep was now a small dot in the distance. She remembered the last time she'd glanced back to see the castle disappearing from so far away was when her and Theon had raced in a terrified panic to escape it from the very man she now worried about within it.

It was such an odd sensation to regard Ramsay with any sort of affection, and if she'd not personally broken him, she'd never have believed such feelings for the man possible. She had been the one to knock the legs out from under Ramsay and twist him in a way that even she didn't understand fully what she had done to him. Sansa had been nowhere near as cruel to Ramsay as he had been to Theon, but the thought of mirroring what he'd done to the wrecked Greyjoy left her to feel more than a small amount of guilt and a sense of responsibility to nurture Ramsay away from becoming the hollowed out man Theon had turned into. Who Ramsay had been was never who she wanted to become. Was that reasoning really why she cared for Ramsay now? No, there was more to it than that, but the complication behind her feelings were hard to put into words and even harder to explain.

Sansa had seen echoes of Ramsay's behavior towards her in Theon's behavior towards Ramsay; it was that almost blind sense of loyalty that had bewildered and infuriated her in Theon. He'd been so disillusioned that he'd betrayed her even though it had meant he would still suffer by Ramsay's hand. Theon's allegiance to Ramsay though was born of unadulterated terror of what Ramsay would do to him, but Ramsay's devotion to her was very different.

When she had originally started, Sansa had garnered a similar response from Ramsay by making Ramsay fear her as Theon had feared him. Shattering Ramsay and wresting control of his actions ensured he dreaded consequences, but that was where the resemblance between the two had ended. For Ramsay, it had been Sansa's tenderness that had converted him to give himself over to her willingly. Sansa had recognized the change in him the first time she'd elected to bestow kindness over cruelty to him, but she hadn't put together what kind of impact she was inflicting on Ramsay until she'd extended other small affections to him to that also reaped an immediate positive response. Most men would not have bent their will to her for such a reason, but there was something far deeper she'd touched within Ramsay, and although the origin of why he reacted to find refuge in her this way, Sansa didn't know. What she did know was that he yearned for it and perhaps had always needed it.

His craving for a kind touch was enough to bring out something sheltering in her too. As it was, she was still awed by the transformation of their relationship, and Sansa could tell that those around her including Lord Davos, that even now currently fixed her with a look of both concern and inquisitiveness, found it difficult to understand just what had brought about such a drastic change in her demeanor towards Ramsay. They all had questions that she hadn't been able to bring herself to divulge answers to, but as her feelings settled and solidified, it was becoming easier to face. Speaking to Jon about Ramsay the night before had removed a large burden, but there was still quite a few people of importance that she would find wanting answers, so it was best she get used to talking about Ramsay now. She raised her chin to consider Davos' quizzical gaze before opening herself to his questions, "You want to know why. I'm sure every person on this trek is of the same mind set, so ask. I will not say that I will answer all your queries, but perhaps I may at least enlighten you with some answers to satiate your curiosity."

Davos blinked in surprise; it was true, he had many questions, but like the rest that had muttered their confusion over the situation, he had never expected for Lady Sansa to openly invite him to the truth. He was silent a moment gathering his thoughts before proceeding, "I will not say it isn't a wonder to many why you are willing to go to such lengths to learn about Ramsay Bolton, but it's not my place to question your choices, my lady. Although, I can't say that it doesn't baffle me and leave one intrigued to know why."

Sansa nodded at his statement, "It's a fair assessment to be baffled over my recent actions concerning Ramsay; to be blunt with you, it's something I'm still working to understand myself. I never intended or would have imagined the scenario that is playing out now. I thought I knew the man, and as detestable as he's been, I had only meant to rip him apart before killing him. Death had been a kindness I wasn't willing to afford him," her eyes shifted back to the window thinking on the awful things that she'd done to him, the awful things she still wanted to do to him even now (albeit much less cruelly.)

Lord Davos regarded Sansa quietly; he sensed there was more that she wanted to say, but that to say them was proving difficult for her. He was a patient man, and so he waited for her to begin again.

She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat as she returned her attention back to Ser Davos' enduring gaze, "As you well know by now, I've done things to Ramsay that make me no better than he was," Davos shifted uncomfortably opening his mouth to rebuttal her statement, but Sansa wasn't finished and continued, "If it were just guilt I felt for the things I inflicted upon Ramsay, I would have ended him already. It's not. I won't lie, as much as it shames me, guilt is not the only thing I felt for what I did to him. When I loathed him, I found I more than liked seeing Ramsay writhe for me, but a deviant lust did not drive me here to make this journey. What did spark this venture was that I've discovered a part of him through his suffering that I'd like to believe is actually salvageable, a part that left me curious to see if what I'm observing is a delusion of grandeur or an actuality."

He took her words in now as he leaned back in his seat; lord Davos had given counsel to and served kings, but he'd also lived in the depraved world of a smuggler. In this way, he was easy to speak to. Sansa had felt less wary to tell him of her intentions partly because of Davos' easy nature and sorted past, but even so, her statement had given him a lot to digest. Ramsay's death was an easy answer to him, but Davos realized now that whatever had happened between lady Sansa and Ramsay in the depths of her dungeon was a far greater mystery than he'd originally anticipated. Like Jon, he was concerned that Ramsay was coning her into believing a lie, but unlike Jon, Davos saw a cunning in Sansa to ferret out such an untruth and was more inclined to believe in her instinct, "If I may ask, what is it that you hope to find out here?"

Sansa sighed looking slightly abashed as she responded, "I'm seeking out Ramsay's mother."

Davos' eyebrows raised even higher at this admission, "His mother? She was a miller's wife then? Jon had mentioned we were to follow your lead, and although I'm not overly familiar with your lands, my curiosity raised when you gave direction to the men to follow the weeping water north of this Dreadfort, that once housed the Bolton family, in search of a common mill."

Straightening, Sansa nodded, "You must think me insane to want to come out all this way for a simple conversation, but I have been told things by Maester Medrick that raises more than a few questions as well as seeing a defining shift in Ramsay's disposition at the mere mention of his mother. To have such a negative reaction from him where he's otherwise been rather reserved lately gives me cause to believe that she may also provide a better picture into who Ramsay actually is, or at least she may help give me a better understanding of the man, so I can make wiser decisions when it comes to handling him."

Lord Davos' brow was furrowed in a look of contemplation as he mulled over this new information. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, the way Sansa spoke of Ramsay held a number of tells that she was quite invested in him now (and not just in making him pay for his crimes against her but for some other undefined purpose which was a tad unnerving after not only the stories he'd heard about Ramsay but witnessing the man's callous mannerisms and deeds personally.) The fact that Sansa was seeking out his mother to question her about him seemed a bit above and beyond anything he may have seen as a course of action he'd suggest, but as an advisor, Davos also knew the importance of gathering knowledge; knowledge could be invaluable. The term know thy enemy was an infamous saying for a reason, so he merely nodded slowly in quiet agreement before giving her a serious composed stare as he replied, "Well then, let us hope this woman can give you what you seek."

The room felt too quiet once Sansa had left, and Ramsay's eyes darted to the two guards that watched him impassively. He had half expected for them to shift into an obnoxious set of pricks like the previous two men who had harassed him; he was relieved that wasn't a reality especially with Sansa telling him she'd be gone for a few days.

The thought of waiting days for her return had his stomach knotting; what would he be treated like now without Sansa present to interject or intervene? Sansa had mentioned Jon would be his standing warden while she was away, and just the thought of enduring the low born bastard giving him direction was enough to make Ramsay bristle. He wasn't much for taking orders, and outside of his father and most recently Sansa, Ramsay had rarely been of the status to have to (as those unfortunate enough to make the mistake of referring to his station as a bastard often didn't live long enough to make that mistake a second time.) He wasn't in a position though to buck any form of authority, so he quietly simmered letting a calm overtake him to at least appear unruffled by the situation even if inside he was anything but.

Ramsay's attention drifted to his plate of growing cold food; he'd lost his appetite, but forced down the food because he neither wanted to be tied back down to his mattress anytime soon, and the next time he was brought food may not be of the same luxury that Sansa had recently been affording him. The guards didn't rush him as Ramsay pecked at the food dully spooning in a bite here and there autonomously as his mind drifted over the past couple days. Shifting in his seat brought him back to having been punished quite thoroughly by Sansa, and Ramsay did his best to put that memory out of his mind. He instead liked settling on thoughts of their dinner from last night, it had felt normal enough (or as normal as he'd had the privilege of experiencing since he'd lost the battle and the Starks regained control of the keep.) Ramsay found these small moments of normalcy worth clinging to as it was a tether to his sanity or what he had considered sanity before Sansa's reconditioning.

The realization that Sansa had warped his mind was a truth Ramsay found hard to swallow even though he saw his own psyche willingly concede. At first he had told himself he had no other choice but to comply, but that wasn't all true. There was still a part of him that remained cold and calculating as to what had happened and why, but the majority of Ramsay overlooked these facts for the continued opportunity to both live and to be cared for. It frightened Ramsay; as a former torturer he saw all the signs, had seen the signs of falling into compliance, and yet, he seemed unable to bypass falling into the pitfall that was Sansa Stark.

These guards, Jon, any of the rest of them, they were not Sansa, and as such, a bitterness began to seep into Ramsay to be at their mercy. They were undeserving of any form of obeisance, but he didn't wish to upset Sansa either; he could be cordial enough to get through the next couple of days…

The sound of heavy boots moved with solid strides along the corridor and came to an abrupt stop in front of the dungeon door as it unceremoniously burst open. It wasn't a violent display, but some of Jon's frustration was definitely aimed at the door.

Ramsay had his back to the door spinning his head to glance over his shoulder and regarded Jon with an implacable expression.

Jon made quick work of moving up to stand beside Ramsay surveying the table; he frowned none too pleased with the look Ramsay was already affixing him with. In his left hand a small ink well's weight rested loosely on three fingers while a rolled up scroll protruded from between his index finger and thumb. His right hand gripped his sword.

Ramsay's eyes were drawn first to the clenching and unclenching sword hand before casually drifting over to the hand with the supplies Sansa had had sent for him to jot down ideas to make right his sins (a chore he was in no way interested in completing but also knew that he would at least have to mark down a few things for Sansa to purview upon her return.) Jon wasn't versed in hiding his feelings at all, and his obvious unease made a smirk play upon Ramsay's lips, "I see you've fetched my writing provisions; that's a good man. I'm sure your sister will be quite proud of your promptness."

It was a definite jab at his station, and Jon grit his teeth forcing back the urge to reopen the now healing cuts he'd placed upon Ramsay with a few well-placed punches to his cocky face. Instead he responded evenly, "Sansa will be more pleased with your progress on obeying her wishes; finish your food, so that you can get to doing as you were told," he set the vial of ink and scroll down harshly on the small table before leaning in closer and stating severely, "I'll be back to check on you later. I would suggest you work attentively lest you make us both regretful."

Ramsay was all out scowling at Jon's word choices knowing that Jon was not only demeaning him by clearly pointing out his place but promising punishment if he didn't produce something by the time Jon returned. Ramsay found his rage escalate and course through his veins like an unquenchable fire as he pursed his lips and stared straight ahead not deigning to look at Jon or give him a response for fear that he wouldn't be able to control the negativity that threatened to pour out of him if he did.

Seemingly satisfied with Ramsay's response (or lack of response,) Jon rose back up to standing before giving a nod of departure and quickly turned to leave without further word.

Ramsay found his eyes trailed after Jon watching him leave; Ramsay was glad Jon never turned back to see him staring after him as he exited. If Jon had looked back, he would have seen Ramsay's seething sneer set with clenched bared teeth to display the level of malice he held towards Jon. It was for the best; in Jon's current mood, he may have found the act of impudence enough to take Ramsay in hand then and there. Ramsay really had no idea the fine line he was walking with Jon, and if he did know, he'd likely be much more willing to work with the man. As it was, Ramsay assumed Jon was more the type to fall to being a messenger of his deeds to Sansa upon her return, and taking much less stock in the man's threat than he should. He looked down at the scroll and scoffed before throwing his napkin on his plate to address the nearby guards, "I'm done with this scrap; one of you can call on a servant to clean up this mess."

The men didn't seem to take kindly to his words, but neither did they quip or chastise Ramsay for the way he addressed them. The larger of the two stepped forward motioning with his hand for Ramsay to get up, and all the while, Ramsay watched him carefully as he obeyed the request by slowly rising from his chair and taking the few steps towards the guard that separated them. Temeric was appeased enough with Ramsay's response to rise without further rudeness as he splayed a hand over to his right, "Come on then, Lady Sansa wished for you to get a bit of walking in, and seeing as there's only that small table, we will need to get it cleaned off if you're going to be able to have room to write."

Temeric meant the comment in a literal sense that Ramsay had no room to comply with now both Sansa and Jon's wish to work on the task she'd given Ramsay, but Ramsay saw the statement as a slight because he was still stewing over Jon's words and had assumed the guard was taking his own jab at his expense following the conversation that had just past. Ramsay didn't remark on Temeric's words, but his eyes narrowed hatefully to show the full of his contempt before moving in the suggested direction away from the table.

Having had no prior dealings with Ramsay, Temeric ignored the display and followed after him letting Ramsay walk ahead ten feet. The servant that had been serving Sansa and Ramsay quickly moved in to clean off the table while the other guard was kind enough to grab both the parchment and ink for her to do so easily.

Ramsay's shoulders were squared and tense as he walked the expanse of the small room (that only seemed smaller each passing day.) His body ached from disuse; the small bit of walking about felt good, but if he continued in this vein, he could tell his muscles would begin to atrophy making him an even smaller man than he was currently, and that thought left him with a sense of uneasiness. It was just one of many thoughts that raced through his head as he paced about the room quietly fuming.

It only took the servant a few minutes to clear off the table, but Temeric didn't force Ramsay back to the table right away sensing the smaller man needed to let off some steam, and so they made three more passes around the expanse of the room before Ramsay glanced back at the guard not announcing that he'd had enough but from the look on his face, he was bored with tedious circular motion.

Temeric nodded in the direction of the table, "The table's clear for you as you requested." It wasn't a demand to start writing, but the invitation was obvious.

Ramsay turned back to the table and stalked to his seat to carefully adjust himself in front of the replaced ink well and scroll where his plate had once been. Some of his anger had seeded away having had a chance to walk it off, and the guard's pleasant manner helped to sooth Ramsay's unsettled emotions concerning the task as well as the encounter with Jon. He was feeling much testier, and Ramsay equated this feeling to having to deal with Jon and this new assignment he'd been given when in actuality what was most bothering him was knowing that Sansa was off on some journey where he was left behind to wonder and worry about her. Ramsay didn't like these constant feelings concerning her that continued to crop up within him making him feel pangs of longing followed by anger and resentment that she'd left him. His automatic response always seemed to fall back to wrath, this Ramsay was accustomed to, but to miss her or anyone was something new. It left him feeling vulnerable which was an emotion Ramsay detested to feel, and as such, this same cycle continued to swirl within him.

Ramsay leaned back in his chair now staring at the rolled up scroll and bottle of ink for long minutes as his jaw worked, and he pondered upon what he could actually write. Of course the more Ramsay thought on the task the more embittered towards it he became. The image of taking the vile of ink in hand and smashing it into the stone wall was a satisfying thought although not practical or at all a logical means to deal with the frustration he was feeling, so he didn't act upon it (mostly because he didn't want to deal with the repercussions doing so would likely bring) but it did seem to diffuse some of the aggression Ramsay was feeling just to picture himself doing it. That would have to be enough for now.

His brow lifted noticing for the first time that he had no quill to write with, and the corners of his mouth tugged into a smug smile. Ramsay motioned towards the supplies, "It would seem I can't do any writing today as I've nothing to write with unless I'm expected to use my fingers."

The guardsmen looked at what Ramsay had clearly pointed out before glancing back at one another. Temeric replied, "If you want to be the one to go ask for a quill, I can man the prisoner while you're away, Cecil."

Cecil grimaced, "We were told he needed attending with no less than two men at all times, Temeric."

Temeric sighed tiredly, "We'll cuff him down, and then you can run for the quill. I don't think he's going to lunge from his chair and attack me, but you're right, it's best to be on the safe side." Temeric turned his attention back to Ramsay, "Cecil will get you a quill, and in the meantime I'm gonna need you to resituate yourself on your bed."

It was an excuse to delay the task a little longer and one that Jon couldn't deny him for not completing without having the physical means to do so. Ramsay felt in some small way he was getting over on Jon to have an excuse to avoid doing what he had threatened him with and gave no argument to Temeric's request to lock him back down.

The guards did so quickly enough with full cooperation from Ramsay, and Cecil departed shortly after. There was a long silence that followed where Ramsay spent the time doing his best to ignore Temeric before Cecil returned with a quill that he set on the table. Once Cecil had returned, they released Ramsay once more.

Ramsay rose from the mattress a bit more sluggishly than he'd gone back to it not looking forward to sitting on the hard wooden chair again so soon. Cecil had been gone a while but not long enough for Ramsay's liking. So it was that Ramsay found himself right back where he'd started, staring down at the rolled scroll and ink bottle for long minutes and trying to decide on what to write. He supposed that he should have used the long break of Cecil running to fetch a quill to think further on what he could write, but instead Ramsay used the time to mentally shut down and let himself drift into a half sleep to pass the time (it was something he'd done a lot these days to stave off boredom.)

Sighing Ramsay figured he'd stalled long enough wasting nearly two hours on deliberating and deciding he'd best get at least one or two things jotted down incase Jon decided to pop in to check on his progress as he'd warned of. Ramsay didn't want to come off as being defiant (even if he was doing his best to give Jon a minor bur to annoy him by not kowtowing fully to his demands. Ramsay's pride wouldn't allow himself to quietly do as he was told… at least not by Jon, the Stark's bastard, of all people.) Jon wasn't even naturalized like he was, so why should he bow to someone beneath him? Prisoner or not, Ramsay was still Jon's better, and he had no plans of giving the man any more deference than he absolutely had to in order to remain in Sansa's good graces.

As Ramsay ruminated on bolstering his ego, he untied the twine holding the scroll unrolling it. Within the page there was a quill that had apparently been rolled up with it for transport, and if Ramsay had simply unraveled the scroll in an attempt to write, he would have found the quill easily. His face flushed noting both guardsmen also witnessed his discovery.

Ramsay cleared his throat as he remarked in a rather perturbed tone, "Well, it appears you ran a false errand." He didn't apologize as he ripped off the cork on the ink well to furiously dab the quill in the ink and begin writing. Ramsay ran a hand through his hair as the vexation of the situation he made for himself gnawed at him now. Ramsay realized that he had no excuse for such a flagrant and now obviously deliberate waste of time, and the stress of trying to hurry the contemplation of self-inflicted punishments only seemed to exasperate his feelings to a point that by the time Jon had come to check on him as promised, Ramsay had nothing but a few drops of ink where he'd dabbed the quill in an impatient tapping motion as he'd struggled to clear his thoughts.

Jon had entered the dungeon much more calmly than he had earlier, but anticipating his arrival, Ramsay had spun back to look at him with eyes that widened in a shocked surprise before quickly turning away. Ramsay had rolled the scroll up and was recorking the ink well as Jon approached.

Ramsay didn't look at Jon choosing instead to stare off in the distance with a glower painted firmly on his face. His hands were interlaced tightly in his lap, and his posture was rigid.

Jon took this all in as he looked the man up and down a long moment before taking the scroll off of the table to unravel it. Seeing there was nothing written on the parchment sparked an immediate irritation to rise within Jon, but he did not show it only letting out a tired sigh, "I'm not even going to ask you why you haven't written even one sentence, Ramsay. You know what was asked of you, and now you're forcing my hand." Jon didn't want to deal with this now, he didn't want to deal with it at all. He glanced over at the plush chair beside Ramsay's bed to see the strap was laid neatly over the arm of the chair as Sansa had said it would be. The thought of using it on the other man caused bile to rise up in his throat, but he'd also sworn to Sansa he'd keep to her methods of punishment.

Ramsay had been watching Jon out of his peripheral, and it wasn't lost on him what Jon had glanced over to gaze upon. An immediate thrill of astonishment and alarm took hold of Ramsay at the thought of Jon strapping him. He suddenly found his voice as he blurted heatedly, "I'll get it done! I just need more time! This isn't easy to come up with, so I've been mulling it over for a bit."

Jon peered back at Ramsay lifting a brow having noticed Ramsay's attention drawn in to see what he'd been looking at had sparked a reaction in him.

Ramsay's face was flushed with both impotent rage and humiliation, and as much as Ramsay just wanted to tell Jon to go fuck himself, he already knew that would land him in a much worse place than his neglect had already done. No, this was damage control. Perhaps he could placate Jon into giving him another chance; it was obvious by the grimace that Jon had made, he wasn't fond of the idea of punishing him, so it was definitely worth a try.

Jon considered Ramsay for a long moment before answering, "I'll be back tonight after you've had your dinner to deliver your punishment, but I can be lenient if you actually show me some effort, Ramsay. Make the next few hours count," with that said, Jon tossed the scroll back on top of the table and left.


	16. Illumination

Chapter Sixteen

Illumination

The next few hours saw to Ramsay tapping his fingers and staring heatedly at the parchment before him feeling both shamed by the fact he was having to work to come up with ideas of contrition for crimes he had felt vindicated committing and waiting for the inevitable return of the Stark bastard who would then judge his labors to inform Ramsay whether or not his endeavors were worthy enough to reduce, or if at all possible, eliminate a predetermined punishment to come. It was a good thing that he'd had a second quill as in his seething frustration, Ramsay had impulsively crushed his first quill with an irritated fist snapping the brittle implement easily. Realizing what he'd done, Ramsay carried the rage out further and violently threw the fragments onto the stone floor before calming and snatching up the second quill to continue his work.

One of the first suggestions he'd scrawled onto the page was the thought of using his archery skills to teach one of these ingrates the ability to hunt, of course the things that Myranda had taught him when it came to training hounds was invaluable, so he jotted this down as well. Upon rereading them to himself, Ramsay had realized that these two suggestions would likely only rile Jon further because he'd killed his brother with his archery and had threatened to feed Jon and his companions to his man-eating dogs, Ramsay quickly blotted them out. The last thing he wanted to do now was to upset Jon more than his procrastination already had. He wanted to work his way out of getting disciplined rather than earning himself more of Jon's annoyance. Ramsay was more than sure any half-assed attempts as a note to give either sibling lip service would also be met with punishment, so Ramsay sighed, irritably folding his arms to rest his chin on them, as he began to seriously ponder what he could actually offer those he'd hurt to make a real attempt to compensate them.

Ramsay didn't really have much in the ways of skills to offer; his father, Roose had given his mother enough protection to keep her mill and fend off her dead husband's brother's greedy attempts to take it from her (earning the man a cut off tongue for his troubles to ensure Roose's help was not disclosed), and his mother's servants tended the fields in order to live on her acquired lands leaving Ramsay to traipse about with Reek doing as he pleased until he'd come to live at the Dreadfort.

His half-brother, Domeric had been trained to do so many things that Ramsay wasn't good at. Ramsay had envied him so much; Domeric had everything given to him, the training of a knight, riding lessons to make him a master horse rider, a noble's education, an heir to all the Bolton lands, and most of all their father's approving eye. Even after Ramsay had had Reek slip the drought of herbs he'd taken from the Maester's quarters, meant to poison vermin, into Domeric's food, and his brother had fallen ill and eventually breathed his last breath leaving Ramsay as Roose's only living heir, Roose still would only regard Ramsay with no more than a cold disdain.

Roose had never accused Ramsay of being responsible for Domeric's death (he couldn't prove it), but Ramsay was almost positive that his father had known what he'd done and perhaps blamed himself for allowing Domeric to talk him into bringing Ramsay to the Dreadfort to begin with. Either way, Ramsay had been his only living heir after so many other attempts prior to Domeric had led to a still born or death before the babe had ever left the cradle. No, Ramsay would have to do if Roose were to leave any legacy at all, even a tainted one with blood so bad that leeching did nothing to stave off the growing depravity that lurked within the bastard of Bolton. Ramsay hadn't cared though because he was heir to the Bolton estate, and he was just happy to be his father's only son now.

Ramsay had felt nothing for Domeric back then other than animosity for taking everything from Ramsay that he'd felt he'd always deserved, but now, as his thoughts drifted over his past to try and ferret out what he could actually offer to do for others, some small part of him realized that his brother might have actually wanted him for more than just an entourage piece. Domeric had spoken of him being his squire which only spoke to Ramsay as being Domeric's servant as a second son; Ramsay was tired of being second best.

Ramsay had had no comprehension of what he actually could have had to have been Domeric's brother. He'd never given the relationship a chance having sought to kill Domeric not long after he'd managed to worm his way into the castle. Ramsay had been so blinded by his own rage and insecurities that he only saw his brother's want of him as nothing more than a humiliation, a slight for his low birth to stand beside his brother's shining glory. It only intensified how Ramsay had secretly always saw himself as a joke and an outcast who desperately tried to wear the guise of the Bolton name to prove himself worthy in his father's eyes. He was Roose's son to, and it stung his pride and his heart to know that he never would be more than half-Bolton trash to the man. To Ramsay, Domeric had reminded him that he was a shamefully poor substitute to his father's trueborn son. There was so much in a name, and Ramsay had wanted to be so much more than 'the bastard of Bolton' that he'd failed to see the bigger picture. With everything that had come to pass, where he sat now having been stripped of everything, Ramsay had nothing more to do than reflect on his life and his very bad choices.

You are the company you keep, and other than Domeric, Ramsay had been of the ilk that were ruthless and selfish; he'd readily maintained the same outlook throughout the entirety of his life, but the Starks believed in fairness, and most of all justice, and Ramsay knew this too even if their concepts of integrity had never been placed into him from his raising, he recognized them in others especially when he had no other choice but to. The Starks were loved by the people, and Ramsay had always thought their supporters foolish and weak, but standing upon the decimation of his own house to remain the only living Bolton, a failed family that would be erased from history, left Ramsay to realize he now stood alone by his own hand, and he had been the foolish one.

As much as Ramsay didn't want to believe he'd done anything wrong, the longer he spent trying to devise ways to make amends, the more he was starting to get a niggling sensation that he could spend a lifetime trying to make right all of the terrible acts he'd unleashed on others and still never be able to make up for them all. He'd spend the rest of his days working to scratch the surface of his misspent youth, and whereas before he'd felt a sense of pride to have hurt and lorded over so many by garnering ways to strike fear in their hearts, to now be in a similar position to so many he'd taken from, Ramsay was finally beginning to feel a sense of regret.

These ruminations caused Ramsay's stomach to twist and his chest to tighten, he didn't like these feelings either; in truth, until recently, he'd never given his actions a second thought because as long as Ramsay had gotten his way, that was all that had mattered to him. It was hard not to feel some sort of compunction now though, after all, he'd originally been spared solely because of his heinous crimes only to prolong his suffering where anyone else would have merely been sentenced to a quick death. No, death would have been a mercy, and it had been decided that he hadn't deserved an easy ending to his pain. Ramsay had longed for death drowning in his own humiliation and self-loathing over what he had faced, what had been done to him, when Sansa had first started taking him to task. Things had become much better between him and Sansa once she had altered whatever plans she'd intended for him formerly, but what she had already done to him had left a lasting and permanent impression.

Sansa had cracked Ramsay's exterior to make him consider and relate to his immoral deeds through his own trauma and pain. It wasn't until she'd torn him down to his very foundation did he finally see what she and many others had expected him to feel all along. It had been a dawning realization when she'd taken him roughly with her glass cock reiterating all the poisonous things he'd poured into her on a nightly basis and reflecting those words back at him whenever he'd called out for clemency. Sansa artfully connected his offences on her with his own misery; she had made a victim of him by recreating her experience in him firsthand. It had shown Ramsay how awful what he'd done to her was, and she did so again here by mental means commanding him to think on his crimes and devise punishments for himself.

To put himself in the shoes of those he wronged and try to find ways to compensate them for what he'd taken from them left Ramsay at a loss because there really was no way to repay someone's family for flaying one of their kin, but that was what he was expected to do since he couldn't die for all of them a hundred times over (which would have been his answer for the things he'd done if it had not been done by him but instead to him.) It wasn't in Ramsay's nature to empathize, and the very act of doing this was forcing him to look at his actions and face the reality of his transgressions through more aware eyes. Ramsay was starting to realize with a sickening dismay that on some level he did deserve punishment as the excuses he'd made previously to justify his actions no longer held the weight within him they once did. In the end it was why he couldn't hate Sansa now; Ramsay knew what he'd done to her, to Theon (his Reek), and whereas before he'd only considered his own want to torture them and feel gratification for elevating himself above them, trueborn nobles that thought they were better than he was and deserved to be brought low by his hand, he now had clarity to personally correlate how prolonged hurting physically and emotionally was a dreadful state to be in.

Ramsay couldn't avoid the icy chill that ran through his veins; he wanted to scrub his brain of all the thoughts that now plagued him, but once the perception of empathy had come to light within his core, there was no undoing it. Like most people, but new to Ramsay, he was beginning to feel more than regret for having to pay for his crimes, Ramsay was starting to encompass an understanding of the pain he'd caused others where an underlying emotion stirred within him that he'd never recognized feeling, a sense of guilt. Remorse was a foreign concept newly implanted within Ramsay through Sansa's radical methods, but like a disease, the small fragment she'd made him feel already seemed to be infecting his way of thought starting to now carry over and observe more than just her and himself. Ramsay didn't want to think about other people as having feelings or pain, they weren't special, they weren't Sansa, they weren't him! Yet, try as he might, Ramsay couldn't help but to absorb this fact as his mind ticked numbly away so many failed ideas to find forgiveness from those he'd wronged. The futility of his strained determinations left Ramsay feeling disheveled and hollowed from the lack of any suitable suggestions he could actually propose.

Time was ticking away, and Ramsay didn't want Jon to come back to find an empty page a second time around, so finally pushing past all the uncomfortable emotions he was feeling, Ramsay began to list anything that came to mind that he could do for another person that excluded any form of activity that would be seen as hostile or relating back to his crimes. The list was painfully small by the time the servants came with his dinner which even though he'd not eaten in some time, Ramsay had managed to lose his appetite in the wake of expecting Jon's soon to be return.

Would his list be acceptable? Probably not, and the thought of the other man's disappointment in him served to sour Ramsay's mood further. Ramsay's own lack of productivity aggravated him, and he now redirected that vehemence at Jon because he knew the man would be coming soon to deliver a promised punishment to him. The fact that bastard was given the right to reprimand him at all rose the hackles on the back of Ramsay's neck. He hated Jon and his pretentious self-righteous face! Ramsay stewed now scowling with arms folded tightly against his chest becoming more and more upset by the moment the further his own anticipation stressed that judgement was almost upon him.

As an act of spitefulness to add to his very brief listing, Ramsay wrote in big letters that filled up the remainder of the page, 'DEATH,' before rolling the scroll up unceremoniously and tossing it on the table. Seemingly satisfied with the small act of defiance, Ramsay snatched a chicken leg that had gone cold off his dinner plate and began ripping into it. He might as well eat Ramsay thought bitterly as there was nothing more he could really do but wait, and Jon did make him wait. It was nearly dark by the time Jon had arrived; after so many long hours, Ramsay had lost most of his agitation sinking into a state of melancholy acceptance of what he was sure to face.

Unexpectedly, Jon was no longer wearing a weapon when he entered the dungeon, and he dismissed the weary guards that looked as though they were ready to die of boredom. These were two replacements that had come around midday but had not spoken to Ramsay (not that he'd minded since Ramsay tended to ignore the guards as best as he could anyway.) Ramsay wasn't sure if the fact Jon had discharged the guards so easily and came bearing no protection made him feel relieved or insulted. Surely Jon didn't see him as no threat at all? Jon had manhandled him in the courtyard rather easily, Ramsay remembered with a growing frown, but Jon must know that underestimating him was a mistake. Mixed feelings aside, Ramsay did find his curiosity peeked as he watched Jon release the men from duty and come to stiffly sit across from him just staring at Ramsay a long moment as if to assess him fully before they began their parlay.

Jon settled back in his seat taking the rolled up scroll and unfolding it to purview its contents. His expression was worn and serious as he lowered the parchment and regarded Ramsay tiredly, "Death… you put this down as a mark of insolence I take it?"

Ramsay rocked peevishly in his own chair crossing his arms once more as he squared his shoulders rebelliously and cut his eyes to stare crossly at the wall, "You plan to take me to task regardless, so what does it really matter what I wrote? We both know it to be the only compensation anyone would really want. Debts are paid in blood after all, and I've spilt plenty of theirs." His jaw tightened working out his frustrations a moment before his body slackened, and Ramsay breathed out a heavy despondent exhale, "You wanted me to tell you what I thought they would want from me… it's only a fair assessment that my death is what most would scream for. Why not give it to them then?"

Jon's brow furrowed as he studied Ramsay closely, "You're serious aren't you? You would readily die for your crimes rather than live and make amends?"

Ramsay's eyes flicked back to Jon as he smirked letting out a humorless laugh, "Is that so surprising? Do you think I'm afraid of dying?" The emotions that had brewed within him all day now wrestled to come to the surface, and Ramsay fought them back down with a building wrath as his impulsive nature took over and he spewed out with a hiss, "I'd rather die than be paraded about making nice for the benefit of your allies! You asked me the penalty I would give for my crimes? I wrote it plainly; it would be death, a hundred times over!"

Jon quietly took in Ramsay's impotent rage as the man's nostrils flared and he gripped the table with whitening knuckles. He didn't take offense to Ramsay's outburst, Jon only sighed, "You can't atone for anything in death, Ramsay. It's an end, and for whatever reason, my sister wants you to remain among the living for her sake, so death is not an option. Your other points… I wish there were more, but it's a start."

Ramsay was amazed that Jon hadn't chided him or responded with any sort of condemnation for his lack in number of ideas. The fact that Jon hadn't treated him the way he'd automatically expected had Ramsay visibly deflate as he looked down at the table to respond hesitantly, "I… I didn't know what else to put down." Ramsay added almost inaudibly as he slumped back in his seat, "It wasn't from lack of trying. I just… I don't think I really have much to give that would be considered a comparable restitution."

Equally surprised by Ramsay's admission having expected a blustering rude response rather than a humble one, Jon's hardened expression softened taking the smaller man's countenance in. Perhaps Sansa was on to something and Ramsay really was changing under her guidance. It didn't make Jon like Ramsay, but it did give him pause to dislike him a little less, "It's not a matter of what you can provide as restitution over a willingness to sincerely try to provide it. Sansa didn't give me a measure of what she wanted to see you write, but I do know the emboldened word death taking up more than half the paper is not going to win you any favors with her. I'll bring you a fresh parchment tomorrow, and you can transfer the propositions you made onto a new sheet and try to add anything else you can think of."

Ramsay's eyes widened in surprise to hear Jon's response, "You'll not tell her of this then?" A small light of hope rang through him to think that the way their conversation was going now that this whole incident may just get swept under the rug.

Jon dashed that hope to pieces with his next statement, "I'll not tell her about you having to rewrite the parchment, but if she queries on whether I had to punish you while she was away, I will not lie to her."

Ramsay's mouth parted to speak pausing a long moment before finding his voice. It was strained and perturbed, "What I did write… that wasn't enough for you then…"

He'd already told Ramsay that he would discipline him, he'd also given him the opportunity to lessen the degree of his penalty if he'd put forth effort to comply. Ramsay hadn't written much, and outside the childish display of marking up the length of the remaining paper with the word death, Jon did believe from Ramsay's reactions and words that he likely did try to cede to his command. Weighing his options, Jon finally decided, "I will not forgo what I already stated I would do, but I do think you put in a concentrated attempt to give me what Sansa wanted from you, so I will also be lenient in what I deliver."

Ramsay's muscles tensed to take in Jon's statement, so there was no avoiding this, but the man did say he'd managed to earn less, so that was something… still the fact remained that he would be taking it from Jon, and that was more than Ramsay's pride could withstand. His brow furrowed in frustration as he growled indignantly, "If you plan to tell your sister upon her arrival home then why not let her decide my fate when she gets back? She is the only trueborn Stark in this keep after all! I pledged my fealty to her; she should be given the right to carry out any decisions concerning me, not you!" Ramsay already knew Sansa would be quite upset with him, and that he'd likely be earning another punishment at her hands for giving her brother trouble upon her return. The reality of this also had Ramsay on edge feeling quite powerless to control anything that was happening to him anymore. He had gone from practically doing whatever he pleased to living with a strict structure of rules that judged every move he made and every word he said. It was a lot to endure especially when not following commands met with corrective punishments.

It wasn't a shock that Ramsay would protest Jon's right to discipline him, but it did annoy Jon nonetheless that Ramsay would resort to calling out his lineage when he himself had been a bastard. He took in a deep breath steeling back his anger to respond in a calm firmness, "Your fealty matters not, Ramsay. You are a prisoner, and you have no rights other than what you are given. As for Sansa, she was quite clear in how she wished I handle you, Ramsay, and I am nothing if not a man of my word. I will carry out her will as promised, and you will submit to it willingly, or I will make you submit. I thought to give you the decency of carrying this out between you and I, alone, so as not to shame you further, but I will not hesitate to call the guards standing right outside the door to forcibly restrain you if you cannot face your punishment like a man. This is the only choice I'm giving you, so what is it going to be, Ramsay?"

Every word hit like a fist to the gut sending Ramsay into a stunned silence. He wanted to be furious, he wanted to protest further, but Ramsay knew to do anything so bold would surmount in a lot more pain and humiliation. Instead, Ramsay was just numb with indecision. His biggest choice now was how much humiliation was he willing to take and at what cost? He could fight Jon, and to be restrained would save him face enough that he hadn't willingly yielded to Jon like a submissive little cunt, but to do so meant that not only would others see his degradation (not just what Jon would do to him but what Sansa had already done to him last night) Ramsay would also most certainly suffer a much harsher chastisement from both Jon now and Sansa upon her return. His pride was worth a lot, but after everything he'd already been through, his ability to put up such a front hardly seemed worth the fallout that would follow such a brazen act of insubordination. Sansa was being relatively nice to him now, and disobeying her brother was already going to make her mad, but fighting him would likely make her furious with him.

Ramsay pouted feeling cornered between a rock and a hard place. He averted his eyes in his embarrassment having already chosen but finding himself unable to announce his decision because to do so meant surrender, and that too was a disgrace that Ramsay wasn't ready to face just yet.

Jon saw the myriad of emotions playing through Ramsay's face and posture; Ramsay had withdrawn to clasp his hands together staring at the floor as his legs bounced lightly with a nervous energy. He could tell Ramsay wanted to object, but there was also a sense of acquiescence in the way Ramsay's shoulders sank and his head bowed further in defeat. Jon remained silent letting Ramsay work through his own inner turmoil ready for either choice even though by Ramsay's mannerisms, Jon was leaning to believe Ramsay wouldn't give him any more trouble even if Ramsay hadn't verbally said as much.

The fact that Jon only patiently waited for Ramsay to make a decision brought Ramsay to think on how his father would always make sarcastic jibes whenever he would ask him to make a choice to both provoke and subdue Ramsay simultaneously. Roose knew that Ramsay worshiped him, and because he'd held such sway over the boy, he could be exceptionally cruel in the ways he would talk down to Ramsay and ensure the boy knew his place. No other man had been given the ability to direct Ramsay in such a way, and as such, this experience was uniquely foreign. Ramsay kept waiting for Jon to insult him or make him feel lowly, and when Jon was instead tolerant and respectful to the point of putting himself at risk by sending the guards away to help Ramsay save a little face and not to make him feel weak (as Ramsay had originally assumed was Jon's tactic), it became difficult for Ramsay to process how to respond.

Ramsay knew there would be a point where Jon would force him to make a decision if he held out too long, and Ramsay didn't want to be put on the spot to answer in such a demeaning way preferring to at least have this small bit of choice on his own terms. He took in a deep breath bringing wary blue eyes up to face Jon's dark unwavering stare as he nodded lightly, "Alright. I'll yield to you freely."

Jon nodded moving into action as the chair scrapped across the floor and he stood moving an arm to point towards the bed, "Let's get this over with." Secretly Jon breathed a sigh of relief as Ramsay's eyes followed the gesture, and he rose to move in the direction Jon had guided; the last thing Jon wanted to do was to have to force this on Ramsay and get into a physical altercation with the man. Of course they hadn't truly begun, so until all was said and done, Jon wasn't going to make any assumptions on how it would all turn out until the deed had come to pass without incident.

Moving in the direction Jon had pointed left Ramsay to break out in a cold sweat as his mind screamed at him to rebel, but his feet continued to tread mechanically over to where he'd been instructed. Ramsay's mouth turned down into a grimace as his stomach twisted in knots and his heartbeat pulsed in his ears. Ramsay couldn't help but to glance back with wide eyes that projected his uncertainty in succumbing to Jon's discipline of him. He swallowed hard while his fists clenched and unclenched as he turned to face Jon his eyes drawn to Jon's hand grabbing the strap from the chair's arm. It was now or never Ramsay thought as he strained a chuckle of false bravado, "You said to take your punishment like a man, I thought that meant you'd also be hitting me like one. Surely your fists can deliver enough punishment that you wouldn't need the extension of an implement?"

Jon frowned regarding Ramsay with an ounce of pity knowing to relinquish to being chastised in such a way as Sansa was ordering him to carry out would be awfully embarrassing. But then, someone like Ramsay Bolton needed to know shame, so Jon couldn't feel too badly for him, "I would heed your request, but Sansa has instructed I only punish you in this way. Please see yourself to disrobe and lie across the bed."

Ramsay grit his teeth as he looked away and a rise of frustration, helplessness, awkwardness, and futility coursed through him. He wouldn't bring himself to argue his plight as he knew such would be fruitless and only make him seem weak in both his and Jon's eyes. Ramsay shucked his shirt off pausing long enough to glance back to see if Jon would find his back to be a good enough target. Jon only silently observed, but the stony expression on his face portrayed that he was waiting for Ramsay to disrobe completely, and so Ramsay haltingly did. The act of taking down his pants in front of the other man was mortifying, and if he didn't have the strength of will he did, Ramsay would have cried from the level of deep shame he felt knowing his ass was already well decorated with blotches showing Sansa's well placed ministrations. Ramsay's lips quivered as he fought to maintain his composure noting the way Jon's eyes seemed to widen taking in the damage Sansa had afforded him.

Presenting himself in this way to Jon was much harder than it was with Sansa. Jon was not tying Ramsay down and there was no threat of anything but this punishment he was to face (which was more humiliating than painful, and as such harder to take psychologically than a simple thrashing with fists.) Ramsay could take that kind of abuse stoically, but a spanking was meant for children not grown men, and having endured it a number of times now, Ramsay knew it was still going to hurt like hell especially in the state his ass was in already. He wouldn't be able to restrain from bucking and crying out, and the thought of Jon seeing him in that light made Ramsay feel ill.

Jon had been his enemy, they'd waged a battle with banners flying and men dying, and to now find himself kneeling on the cold stone floor and stretching his body across his mattress to willingly allow himself to be strapped by that same enemy left Ramsay beside himself with wonder that he was able to bring himself to do it at all.

Jon gave no speech or warning simply striking Ramsay's exposed bottom as soon as it had been placed upon the mattress as ordered. The suddenness left Ramsay to audibly gasp and jerk forward with a start scrambling momentarily to remain in place as the intensity of the slap emanated across his very tender flesh. Unlike Sansa, Jon left no pause to ruminate where and when the next hit would land. He landed in quick unerring strikes to the same areas Sansa concentrated her efforts on (not that Jon wouldn't have been privy to that with the more than colorful display that was already present to work as an active guide.)

This was a special kind of nightmare Ramsay found as he was unable to mentally disconnect from like he had been able to do when Sansa had stood above him strapping him soundly. Jon's swing was sharper and the sting seemed to embed deeper with a resonance that took Ramsay's breath away. It didn't take more than ten strokes to have Ramsay squirming outside of his own desperate will to control himself. His body was acting on its own accord responding to the current of blows that came too fast to mentally register and cope with. It was a challenge not to roll away from the severity Jon delivered, and Ramsay found his gasps and grunts turned quickly to uncontrollable squalls and screams of pain as his legs twitched in barely contained resistance to block the onslaught for just a moment. It would be so easy to do so, but that in itself would prove to be far more shaming than to take it as he was. No, Ramsay would call out, but he would not stop Jon and prove that he couldn't take what Jon dished out, although Ramsay was seriously starting to wonder if this was Jon's idea of a light punishment exactly what would have been considered harsh?!

Jon watched in morbid curiosity as Ramsay physically and mentally began to break down before his eyes. He'd never done anything like this to another person, but the years of swinging a sword gave him enough skill to be accurate in his aim. Seeing Ramsay bounce about and squeal was almost comical if not for the very real implications of pain he was causing the other man. Before they had started, Jon had still held animosity towards Ramsay, and he had half wondered if his hate for the man would carry over into his discipline, but Jon found just as when he'd witnessed those men at the wall that had been sentenced to hang for their treachery against him, there was no joy in inflicting this pain even though he had felt if anyone deserved it that Ramsay Bolton was at the top of that list.

Ramsay made the mistake of looking back, and the visual of his much reddened ass gyrating to the symphony of Jon's continuous smacking lashes was too much to witness, and he found himself pleading, "Leniency! You promised leniency!"

Jon paused reflecting on Ramsay's words to contemplate whether or not he was being true to his word. What Ramsay had taken was not enough in Jon's eyes as he'd already devised a set number of licks that Ramsay was to endure, "I am being lenient, Ramsay. I would see you receive a total of fifty lashes for your disobedience. The punishment just feels harsher because you are suffering from pains you received the night before from a separate occurrence unrelated to this one. That is not of my doing but yours, and I will not reduce your sentence because you've managed to acquire punishments consecutively. Perhaps the added pain will act as an incentive to judge more carefully your options."

Jon's words stung his pride as much as the resumed heavy handedness of the strap where the small break in the rotation only seemed to make the pain feel that much worse. Having been given a solid amount of swats to expect would have been reassuring if not for the fact that what Jon had promised to deliver meant they were barely halfway through this ordeal, and Ramsay still had what he'd already taken with the added pain of what he'd suffered already to persevere through.

Knowing the number and how far they were from finishing made each new swat feel that much more awful to contend with. Jon was right of course, Ramsay's already very tender flesh before they had started made what he was serving him feel excruciating. It would have been nice if Jon would have considered this pain in his leniency, but Ramsay could hardly blame him as leniency had never even been in his vocabulary when dealing with any of his victims. Was that what he was now? A victim? As lick after lick fell, Ramsay hated to admit it, but he knew that he was less a victim verse a product of circumstance. Victims were chosen and selected, whereas he found this predicament through his own actions and had been taken to task for them. The question Ramsay now had to ask himself was how could he manage to keep well away from repeating this god awful cycle? And it was god awful he found as he wailed loudly to the biting kiss of well-oiled leather twisting from side to side now forcing Jon to pause before lining up to strike him again.

"Do you need to be chained down, Ramsay?" Jon finally asked wearily after Ramsay's writhing escalated to a point that it was taking several moments in between each lick to carry out the next one.

They had sixteen left to get through, but the fact that Jon felt the need to ask him that made Ramsay shrivel inwardly as he snarled, "No, just… just get it over with!" Jon questioning his ability to endure only shook Ramsay's deteriorating resolve farther as he felt his eyes glaze over with tears wondering just how pathetic he must look to the other man to have had him ask such a question. It was a downward spiral of emotions as Jon resumed and Ramsay fought with every ounce of his being now to remain still.

Ramsay was shaking all over by the time Jon delivered the last lash, and a sense of euphoria filled him to know he'd managed with no small amount of a miracle to make it through Jon's chastisement without breaking down into tears although several times he felt on the verge of them. He still felt emotionally drained and on the edge of tears now as he drew in exasperated breath after breath reaching back to tenderly touch his scorched flesh and shoot Jon an unhappy glare although he kept any snide comments he might have liked to make to himself.

Jon was just pleased to have reached the end of this, although when all was said and done, it hadn't been as difficult and uncomfortable to execute as he'd originally thought it would be. The petulant glower Ramsay affixed him with now made him raise a brow, "Have you not received enough? The way you're looking at me has me to wonder."

Ramsay flushed immediately averting his eyes, "No, it was enough! You made your point well!" He found his voice was cracking under the strain he was feeling as he subconsciously jittered under Jon's gaze worried that he might start again if he found him to not be contrite enough.

Jon tossed the strap back onto the arm of the chair, "Dress yourself, Ramsay. I'll chain you down, so you can rest for the night."

As Jon spoke Ramsay was quick to rise and begin stiffly dressing. Once he was dressed, Ramsay didn't wait for Jon to instruct him, he crawled on to his bed and raised each limb of his own accord to be manacled. Jon observed this too quietly watching Ramsay's silent compliant demeanor in slight awe of the severe change in the entirety of his attitude as he clasped each cuff to Ramsay's wrists and ankles. Ramsay for his part just wanted this to finally be over and did his best to put the awkwardness he felt away from himself by retreating inwardly as best as he could.

Jon threw the furred cover on top of Ramsay before coming back around to stare down at him taking in the way Ramsay looked almost dazed from the encounter. Jon sighed, "I'll be by tomorrow to take you out of here for a bit. I'm sure these same four walls are a strain to see day in and day out."

This caught Ramsay's attention as his eyes drifted up quizzically to regard Jon. He didn't understand why this man that he'd so ruthlessly killed his brother, tormented his sister, and had tried to kill him would treat him with any amount of sympathy. "You… you would do that for me?" Ramsay's voice wavered, "Why?"

Jon stared at Ramsay a long moment before responding, "To keep you down here like this isn't good for anyone. One needs to take in the fresh breeze to be able to think clearly, and I want you to work to give my sister a better list than you've given me today. You and I can sit down and discuss possibilities that you can do that you may not have yet considered."

Ramsay's throat tightened, Jon was wanting to help him and offering a reprieve from these dank quarters much to his surprise. It was unfathomable to Ramsay, and the offer stunned him silent as he processed Jon's words before nodding, "I… I would like that."

Jon gave him a small nod in return, "Good. I'll be by sometime after the break of light."

Ramsay was still speechless when Jon turned away and departed to leave him alone with nothing more than the burning scones on the walls to keep him company and his thoughts. His ass burned uncomfortably, but what Jon had told him even overrode the radiating pain he felt throbbing a heat of its own to what he was sure would equate to being quite difficult to sit comfortably as Ramsay's mind drifted to the idea of spending time with Jon without having the encounter be a part of any sort of negative connotation. Never in a million years did Ramsay imagine the two being in a civil way, but to think of it now wasn't something he would say he'd object to (which was dumbfounding in its own right after what the man had just done to him.) There was more to it than that though, and Ramsay actually found himself looking forward to what the morning would bring.


	17. Bitter Cold

Chapter Seventeen

Bitter Cold

It had taken hours of just staring off into the dimming light of the torches for sleep to finally take Ramsay. His mind would not quiet of the many jarring thoughts that flooded through him. Jon's recent offer to take him out and about was its own pleasant surprise, and although it gave Ramsay a lot to think about, it wasn't keeping him from his slumber. His curiosity and concern lay in pondering where Sansa had felt the need to rush off to. Ramsay would not have fretted so if Sansa had given him something in regards to what would cause such a sudden dire need of attendance; (his mind turned to Petyr Baelish and the Vale thinking them to be her current most powerful allies and the ones who would most likely wish an immediate audience. They had helped her to defeat his armies, and perhaps now they called on her by crow to return the favor through lands or some other means shortly after the deed had met with success.)

The awful dread cropped within him that they might wish for Sansa to marry and unite bloodlines with another family of their choosing to politically strengthen bonds between all of their houses which was an often called upon diplomatic favor once wars were won and peace was reestablished. (Petyr Baelish was the leading dominion over the Vale until his stepson, the young Robin Arryn, would come of age, and Ramsay could imagine that snake in the grass pushing such an offer on Sansa just to be spiteful due to their last shared encounter that left him slinking out of the Stark dungeon after a failed attempt on Ramsay's life. She was not interested in him as a suitor she'd made plain, but perhaps Petyr would think to control Sansa and the Stark dynasty through other means since marrying her off to the Bolton family had not panned out the way he had hoped.

Sansa was still his wife though, and as much as Ramsay wanted to be comforted by that assumption of sacred vows, in the odd case that the two of them were now seen in (with he being a defeated enemy of the Starks), Ramsay was unsure just how recognized their marriage still was. Sansa had reverted to being called Lady Stark by many of the servants and guards foregoing her Bolton title entirely. Ramsay never made mention of it the few times he'd heard the guards speak of her as 'Lady Stark' in his presence. The peasants of Winterfell were not Ramsay's concern in this regard but what the aristocracy of the North might declare certainly was troubling to him. Since that first afternoon in the dungeon, Sansa had been sure to tell Ramsay that she was a Stark before she was anything, and his family name was but a fading memory. He hadn't taken that news lightly, and at the time Sansa had said it as a barb to hurt Ramsay; she had succeeded. His name was really the only thing Ramsay had left, and it was a bitterly hard earned yet brief victory for Ramsay to have gained it at all.

Thoughts on Petyr usurping the lands of Winterfell were fleeting thoughts as Ramsay remembered Sansa speaking of her venture only being a few days' journey to reach; the Eyrie was a much further distance than a few days from Winterfell; not to say that Petyr and his forces were not holed up with one of the many surrounding houses in the North especially with the winter coming into full force soon. The mountains of the Vale were quite treacherous; it was honestly a miracle at all that their cavalry managed to make it down to the battle in any sort of timing. More bad luck for him Ramsay thought resentfully.

Either way, it vexed Ramsay to have absolutely no clue to the goings on around him where his curiosity on the matter was of no consequence (and this was the real reason that Ramsay stayed riled and unable to sleep.) Loth as he was to admit it to himself, Ramsay missed Sansa, and he worried for her; being left behind made him feel powerless to ensure that she was safe even more so without even knowing where she'd went. Ramsay despised being kept in the dark, but it wasn't like he could demand an explanation from her or anybody for that matter. Maybe he could get Jon to give him answers to the questions plaguing him Ramsay ruminated. This line of thought was soothing and gave Ramsay the peace of mind he needed to finally drift off to sleep.

The yawn of the heavy iron door had Ramsay's eyes fluttering open expectantly as he shot his head up more than eager to see Jon coming to fetch him. But Ramsay's eyes did not take in Jon, instead what they were greeted with was the image of Cecil and Temeric striding into the chamber with a young blonde servant girl that was carrying a fresh set of his thick winter clothes and boots. Boots were a good sign, although a fresh set of clothes presented the problem of changing in front of any of them.

Ramsay couldn't help the instantaneous flush that crept like a tidal wave across the entirety of his face leaving a lingering burn in the tips of his ears and cheeks as he smiled tightly towards their approaching forms. Would he be able to avoid them detecting the all too obvious markings of what he'd forgone? Ramsay didn't think so, and to divulge such was a mortifying blow to his already severely deflated sense of self. Ramsay was more than sure the fact that Sansa had punished him in such a way in front of all those soldiers and the marks he'd bore prior to that dreadful evening had likely circulated like wildfire, those sordid tales Ramsay could do nothing about.

That wasn't the case for the night Sansa had laid the strap to him and last night when Jon had; Ramsay was almost positive that both instances were a private affair kept between the three of them. The Starks didn't strike Ramsay as the type to gloat over such things (although he couldn't be sure of Jon's character, Ramsay was at least somewhat encouraged by the mannerisms Jon had presented to him the few times they had conversed that Jon was even less likely to speak on the act than Sansa.) If his assumptions were true, Ramsay definitely wanted to keep it that way! When the servant placed the garments on the plush chair alongside the boots and backed away to await taking Ramsay's previous outfit once Temeric and Cecil released him to change, Ramsay simply ignored the clothing roughly grabbing the boots as he stated snippily, "Replace those back from whence you retrieved them. I'll not need to sully a fresh pair of clothes. It's not like I've exerted myself in the ones I'm yet wearing sitting around here and lying upon a cot all day."

Temeric and Cecil didn't question the logic although the tone in which Ramsay addressed the girl made both men frown. Temeric announced flatly, "Well then, if you're finished getting ready, the lord of the manor is waiting to see you in the foyer."

Ramsay prickled at the slip and found himself correcting the guard with an air of superiority, "You'd do well to know that he's not lord of this keep; he's a bastard and doesn't have the namesake to claim that title." Ramsay wanted to add more, but thought better of it. He wasn't sure how much of what he said would be repeated back to Jon, and Ramsay certainly didn't want Jon to change his mind concerning his walkabout the keep. Ramsay had been looking forward to the outing (needed it desperately), and the thought of it being easily ripped from him over a few careless words had Ramsay quickly stilling his tongue. Of course the fact he felt the need to monitor what he wished to say only served to nettle Ramsay further.

Temeric and Cecil visibly bristled at the disrespect but didn't comment. Ramsay took in their scowls with a note of surging pleasure; he could tell between the commanding manner in which he'd addressed the help and his current statement about Jon, both of the guards were getting annoyed with his behavior. Let them be ruffled Ramsay thought as a smirk played upon his face. He liked getting under people's skin and pushing buttons. He playfully motioned towards the door with an artful swing of his arm, "I suppose that you wish me to lead the way then? Don't mind if I do." Ramsay, not waiting for the guard to affirm his supposition, took to confidently strutting towards the door with buoyant steps.

The servant timidly backed away as cautious wide eyes followed Ramsay's pace almost tripping over her skirts to remove herself from his path clearly unprepared for Ramsay's forward momentum towards her. Intimidating the woman from just his mere presence made Ramsay's now wide smile brighten; he leveled his eyes to bear down gleefully on the shrinking girl delighting in imposing an aura of distress atop the uncomfortableness that already radiated off the panicked girl in waves. Ramsay drank in her fear of him; it was turning out to be a wonderful start to his morning he decided.

Some part of Ramsay was sending off alarm bells that taking joy in these small acts of causing discomfort in the Stark's servant and guards could end badly for him, but his ego needed a little assuaging after two nights in a row of getting firmly put in his place by the Starks in such a humiliating fashion. The soreness he felt chafing him as he walked was enough to make Ramsay feel pangs of disgruntlement and a want to diffuse and lash out that pain on others. Redirecting his pain had become an art for Ramsay, and these people were insignificant and perfect for targeting his aggression on.

Ramsay held no respect for commoners outside of what purpose they served for him and his requirements. They were however a nonpartisan party thus far and could cause him trouble he realized if he wasn't cautious in the way he treated them, so Ramsay choose to leave off without further provoking having gotten the boost he'd wanted from their initial reactions. It wasn't fully what he craved, but it was enough to make him feel a little better about his own current horrible station in life. He wouldn't be the only one to feel put upon by the situations he was made to endure.

The walk to the foyer was unceremonious and quiet, and Jon stood talking to a soldier about something that as soon as Ramsay was seen approaching was truncated as the man nodded to Jon and quickly departed. Jon's eyes never left Ramsay taking in the fact that Ramsay noticeably straightened his gait becoming taut upon approaching Jon. Ramsay now held his shoulders squared and head high in an attempt to ensure even after last night's occurrence that the other man would know he had not cowed him. Ramsay still found more than a small need to feel seen as an equal to the Stark bastard when standing beside him even if he was a prisoner.

Jon had quickly perceived that Ramsay's demeanor had changed from the night before. Ramsay's pale blue eyes pierced into and over him now as if rooting for any weaknesses that could be found in the former Night commander's exterior. Ramsay still wore the cruel smile he'd mustered from harassing the staff in the dungeon, and his stance exuded that he was sizing Jon up and sending a silent challenge. It was an obvious outward attempt to bolster himself and assert some form of presence in front of Jon much the way lords met their servants. It was well practiced on Ramsay's part, and now that the two were meeting outside of the dungeon standing face to face verse Jon towering over his seated form, Ramsay couldn't help but to see if the Stark bastard would show any level of balk to a very subtle intimidation tactic, "Jon," Ramsay's smile quirked as he fixed Jon with a glare that radiated brazenness.

The posturing and the smirk reminded Jon of the malicious attitude Ramsay had carried at the parlay and the memory found an instant frown to cross Jon's features much in contrast to the grin etched on Ramsay's face. Jon did not flinch as Ramsay would have hoped. Jon only momentarily clenched a fist feeling another sudden urge to punch Ramsay in the face, but instead of giving into to these swirling feelings of indignation the smaller man was purposefully causing him, Jon chose to ignore the blatant attempt to get a reaction from him instead remarking dryly, "We are going to walk the outer perimeter of the wall to get you some exercise. You seem to be in good spirits, so I trust after last night you're not going to be too sore for a fair bit of walking?"

Ramsay's smug smile faltered and his expressive eyes widened; his gaze shot to and fro to ascertain where exactly the two guards that had followed him here were in conjunction to where he and Jon now stood. A flash of humiliation rocked through Ramsay as he noted the two men stood behind him idly flanking either side and apparently listening intently for their next given command.

Jon's simple statement was enough to instantly neutralize Ramsay's stance causing him to twitch anxiously from foot to foot. His shoulders bowed and his hands sought to clasp together behind himself as he swayed back on his heels to recalibrate. Ramsay cleared his throat trying to address Jon officially to save some face, but instead found himself grumbling through gritted teeth, "No… I… I can walk just fine." Ramsay found even as he said this to Jon his gaze shifted away as his shame wouldn't allow him to look the other man in the eye any longer. Ramsay added, annunciating the last three words to throw off any sort of other suspicions the men to his sides may garner from Jon's statement, "I'm more than ready to work out the aches of idleness." It was a mistake to challenge Jon Ramsay realized belatedly, and he silently prayed now that Jon would not expound on the subject and humble him further than his own brashness had opened himself to.

Roose would have made a point to have ground Ramsay under his heel for ever having been so presumptuous, but Jon didn't. Ramsay's diminished response had been enough to subdue the irritation that had begun to surmount within Jon enough to move on. He wasn't the type to be cruel although with Ramsay's ego constantly needing to be put in check, it was definitely tempting.

Jon took in the fact that Ramsay was still wearing the clothes he'd worn from the night before; he'd instructed a servant to bring him clothes appropriate for the bitter chill that awaited them making Ramsay sorely underdressed for the weather, "You're going to need a cloak," Jon stated simply pointing to the small side chamber where coats had been draped to dry after coming in from the cold, "I believe one of yours can still be found in there."

Ramsay's eyes flicked up to Jon nodding his assent as he moved over to the small hovel of a room. He was grateful the other man had chosen to acknowledge the need for warmer clothes since he was already feeling a chill enveloping him from just standing next to the door. The small act of grabbing and donning his cloak and gloves from a closet he'd come to fetch them from for quite some time now felt both familiar and alien. It was an indescribable feeling that Ramsay couldn't place other than to feel this was not his home any longer, it was theirs, and he was an interloper.

The feeling itself Ramsay recognized acutely; he'd felt this way for years when he'd first come to live at the Dreadfort. It was this familiarity that created an unsettled awakening within Ramsay that he truly abhorred feeling this way again, and the realization hit him that just like when he'd first come to stand before his father, he was going to have to fight to prove himself worthy all over again. Ramsay was playing with a completely different set of rules now though, guile would not be an approving trait among the Starks as it had been to his father. Roose had always favored callous and clever, and when Ramsay had shown him these qualities, the man had in turn afforded him with less condescension. What did Jon want from him though? Ramsay didn't really know, and not knowing made him feel off balance and unsure of himself, more very unwanted sensations Ramsay mused bitterly as he stepped back into the hallway to stare at Jon expectantly as a signal that he was ready to proceed.

Jon gave a nod of approval as his eyes grazed over the other man scoping for any hidden bulges that may be hiding weapons of any sort. Jon didn't really think Ramsay was able to obtain anything potentially lethal from within the confines of the small room in such a short span of time, but after having been stabbed multiple times by those that he'd considered allies, it was hard to trust anyone especially Ramsay. Satisfied with what he saw, Jon turned briskly to head outside, and the other three men followed. Jon was still not wearing a weapon, but taking Ramsay outside of the castle wasn't something he planned to do without escorts. Jon wasn't afraid of Ramsay, but neither was Jon a fool to think that any man couldn't manage to get the upper hand with the right opportunity.

Jon wouldn't have had to worry about an attempt to escape or an attack Ramsay quickly surmised as they exited the castle, and those that loitered about the grounds in tents and circled around stoked crackling fires all cut their eyes over to Ramsay evidently astounded to see him outside the keep's dungeon at all. Some gave menacing glares, some looks of shocked surprise, and yet there were others that chuckled at his passing with lips that turned up in knowing grins. All of these eyes boring into him had Ramsay's insides churning in a mix of loathing for them and himself. He wasn't prepared to face their ridicule, so Ramsay did his best to look through them telling himself he couldn't care less what such ingrates would think of him. Ramsay did care though as much as he didn't want to, in his current predicament, he was truly with no allies, and that was a rather scary prospect. He trudged forward a little more quickly now in an attempt to catch up and walk next to Jon. He carried his head held high walking shoulder to shoulder so that any that observed them would see that Ramsay was with Jon and not being led by Jon (as if any would see Ramsay as anything but Jon's prisoner with two guards in tow behind them.)

Jon only studied Ramsay's mannerisms saying nothing as they continued outside the main entrance where the gates laid in splintered pieces, a remnant of the battle that had so recently been fought. Ramsay wore a tight lipped frown staring straight ahead as the two continued to walk side by side, and neither said anything for long minutes as they crunched through the steadily falling snow. Temeric and Cecil maintained a thirty foot distance behind the two men talking sporadically in small clips amongst themselves, and once the bustling of the keep started to fade into the background and all that was visible was a long length of stone wall and a blanket of rolling white did Ramsay focus his attention back on Jon.

Jon had never taken his eyes fully off of Ramsay even if he hadn't been staring at him directly, he had been vigilantly aware of the other man's presence every step they had made. Seeing Ramsay staring at him now, Jon shifted his eyes over to show Ramsay that he had his attention, but Jon did not go so far as to invite him to speak.

Unlike Sansa, Jon always gave little tells about how he was feeling, and Ramsay honed in on the fact that Jon was not overly interested in talking to him. Ramsay may have continued in silence as he also was not as wanton to talk to the other man under his current status (although Ramsay very much would have been interested in the other man if the tables were turned) still, Ramsay needed information about Sansa, and Jon was the only one who might actually be able to give it to him. He licked his lips carefully considering his words before finally engaging the man in conversation, "The storms are starting to pick up, and the nights are getting longer. I'm more than a little surprised that you did not try to stop Lady Sansa from leaving with the season moving into harsher storms as it is. Having been a Northerner yourself as well as spending time on the wall, one would have thought you of all people would be more aware of the dangers to be caught out in a storm can bring."

Ramsay said this casually, but there was a hint of accusation that he was pleased had not been lost on Jon as the other man scowled and his brow crinkled in vexation, "You need not concern yourself; she went with plenty of extra supplies as well as trusted capable allies that will defend her with their lives and protect her from the elements. Sansa has thrived in these lands enough to understand the risks she's taking."

Ramsay raised a brow in mock consideration, "Are you really sure? There is more than the weather to be wary of, but if you say your men are well equipped; I'll have to take you at your word." His statement had definitely gotten to Jon as the other man's eyes narrowed slightly at Ramsay. He continued hoping to goad Jon into disclosing further information, "Still… one would think nothing to be that important as to risk the last Stark heir possibly freezing to death in the unforgiving cold. If I were you, I would have taken her place."

Jon had wanted to take Sansa's place, and unbeknownst to Ramsay, the words he used now only jabbed this wound of helplessness he felt. These roiling frustrations of Ramsay picking at his own grave concerns for Sansa combined with his firm dislike of Ramsay made Jon lose his temper. His hand whipped out to snatch Ramsay like a cobra strike engorging fingers into Ramsay's tunic to roughly hoist him off the ground and slam him into the stoned wall.

Ramsay's lungs let loose a startled cry as his eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected Jon to react this negatively to what he'd said. Cecil and Temeric had run up to assist Jon, and Ramsay held his hands up defensively expecting Jon to hit him from the ferocity he'd thrust him against the wall and the way the man glared at him with a coiled fist locked at his side.

If Ramsay had chosen to bluster any further unwanted statement, Jon would have been apologizing to Sansa because he would have hit the man. As it was, Jon only spat his agitation, "I would have seen her stay, I would have even gone in her place if but that I could. You are far more correct than you'd fathom, Ramsay; you are definitely not worth Sansa putting her life in danger!" Seeing Ramsay's brow furrow in confusion, Jon realized that he'd said too much. He let out a deflated sigh relaxing his grip on Ramsay so that Ramsay slid back down the face of the wall before Jon spun away from him to storm away in need of some immediate space.

Ramsay was stunned by this new revelation, it was both a relief to put to rest the worries he had concerning what her trip was being made for and that it was not anything to do with taking her away from him, but the knowledge that she had made the journey over something regarding him only opened Ramsay up to feel a whole new set of worries concerning exactly what she could have left out so eagerly to seek about him. Jon had made it a good fifty feet away before Ramsay had let the entirety of what he'd learned fully sink in. He still remained leaning against the wall a moment longer as he contemplated the news before pushing away from the wall calling out to Jon, "Wait!" He now ran to catch up to Jon who had slowly turned back to regard him with a cool detached stare. Ramsay stomped through the drifts of snow his need to know more making Ramsay move with expedience as Temeric and Cecil followed swiftly behind him.

Jon did wait silently watching as Ramsay made his way back to him with a crazed expression plastered on his face. He glared at Jon with all seriousness as he demanded, "What do you mean? Where has she gone!?" His eyes darted over Jon's features fervently looking for any indication of where she had gone and why in the other man's communicative face.

Jon frowned staring at Ramsay a long moment; he could see actual concern now in the other's eyes, but Sansa would have likely told Ramsay her intentions if she'd wanted Ramsay to know. As it was, Jon knew he'd already said too much to Ramsay as he replied, "It's not my place to say, Ramsay. When she returns, you can ask her yourself."

Ramsay shook his head as a smile that only crossed his face when he was feeling upset worked its way to strain his mouth in a quirky manner that denoted a snarl as he pointed reproachfully at Jon, "No, you know! Tell me, bastard! I have a right to know if it concerns her risking her life on my account!"

Jon had had enough of Ramsay's entitlement as well as his flagrant disrespect as he launched himself forward giving Ramsay a sharp shove that knocked him easily to the ground although Jon did not follow him to the ground to strike him as he had direly wanted. Although, Jon did lunge forward with balled fists at his sides standing beside Ramsay's prone form resounding out his anger, "There is nothing you need to know other than what you are told! I've grown more than weary of your disrespect, Ramsay, and in regards to my sister's safety, I'll consider this outburst one where you've given temporary leave of your senses. But, know this, and know it well," Jon's voice lowered taking on a threatening tone as he stared daggers leaning closer to Ramsay who stared up at Jon in slight disbelief, "That will be the last time I ever hear the word bastard come out of your mouth unless you are speaking of yourself! I'll not tolerate any more shows of posturing out of you without an answer similar to that of last night; am I clear?"

Ramsay blinked calculating the whole of Jon's warnings as he simply nodded his acquiescence swallowing back a mixture of revulsion that he was letting Jon intimidate him and worry that he'd been pushing the man too hard to the brink where twice over Jon had gotten physical with him and was now subtly threatening to spank him again. It was more than enough of a warning to shake Ramsay back to his personal reality. A surge of hate spiked through Ramsay then to be reminded of this, but it wavered to see Jon now held out a hand to help him back to his feet.

Jon had thought Ramsay would have swatted his hand away by the look of pure disgust he'd affixed him with, but something seemed to shift in him, and Ramsay's features reflected a sense of defeat as he leaned forward looking off at some undetermined point in the snow and finally grudgingly took the hand that was offered him. Jon almost felt bad now that the altercation had ended and Ramsay just continued to stew beside him. They continued on in silence for more than half of the journey around the perimeter until Jon having seen the pout on Ramsay's face long enough rolled his eyes to the sky inhaling deeply, "I let myself lose control by allowing your words to bring out more anger in me than I should have. Forgive my rash reaction, Ramsay. I am worried for Sansa too, but fret not for her safety or what she has gone off to learn. She will return soon, and you will be privy to the knowledge you seek soon enough if she deems it so."

Ramsay had resorted to clutching his cloak about himself to focus on the fact that he was feeling cold over trying to speak further to Jon, but his words still pierced through the façade Ramsay tried to construct that he didn't care what Jon was saying as curious blue eyes took furtive glances over at Jon. Finally after a moment of stretched silence, Ramsay responded almost inaudibly, "I should not have spurned you. You are Sansa's kin, and I respect her; she would wish that I show you similar respect, so I will work to do so."

It wasn't quite an apology, but it was probably as close as Ramsay was going to give him Jon presumed as they continued the remainder of their walk in contemplative silence.


	18. Falling Dominos

Okay, don't kill me! LOL! This chapter leaves off on a bit of a cliffhanger... you know what's coming, but it'll be next chapter before you see it unfold. Oo I'll do my best to update quickly, and when I do, I have some lovely decadent art to share! *eyebrow wiggle* :P

As always, if you're reading, and you like what your reading guys let me know! Comments motivate me and make me work harder to pump these chapters out for you. No love makes me a sad writer! ;)

Chapter Eighteen

Falling Dominos

Jon inhaled and let go an exasperated sigh; his chocolate eyes regarded Ramsay drearily, "If you're not going to work with me, Ramsay, I've got other matters that I must attend to." The two had come back from their walk around the perimeter a couple hours ago to which Jon had afforded Ramsay a respite from the dungeon offering to have him work on the list Sansa had requested of him in the library. All of the Stark children had been tutored in the elaborate room of tomes as Catelyn had been an avid reader and had made sure that all her children (even their bastard, Jon, was well read.)

To take in the high ceilinged room shaped in sharp angles and divided by shelves of books on assorted topics from history to cooking again after so long would have been nostalgic had not many of the books been tossed about on the tables carelessly or left in piles stacked on the floor next to the shelves. The display looked as if the room had been rummaged through in hopes perhaps that something of importance might be found hiding within the shelves or books themselves, and upon finding nothing, they had been discarded to the side as otherwise worthless. Apparently care for books wasn't as top of a priority for the Boltons as it had been for the Starks.

Ramsay had seemed amiable enough when Jon had informed them that they would be going somewhere other than the dungeon, but he seemed less enthused by the location upon entering the library. Ramsay took in the library as if it'd been the first time he'd seen the room; his eyes moved with bored observance across the same scene that Jon stared grimly at and whom was obviously quite dissatisfied by what his sights examined. Ramsay had never found much interest in reading; it reminded him of grueling hours with Maester Medrick, and although the old coot had painstakingly managed to teach him to read and write (not without much frustration from both sides), Ramsay had always rather have been outside doing anything else.

Academics were boring, but Roose had insisted if Ramsay were to remain at the Dreadfort he would learn to at least act like a noble when need be rather than the dirty peasant bastard that he was. The reminder that his tentative hold on any claim to nobility could be easily revoked at any moment should his father grow weary enough of him was the focus Ramsay had needed to take his studies seriously. He garnered enough knowledge to satiate his father into considering he wasn't a complete heathen, and that in itself had been a mark in Ramsay's favor. As far as Ramsay had been concerned, if Roose could be mollified with anything he presented to the man, it was a noteworthy accomplishment.

His studies hadn't all been bad of course, knowing how to read and write was a mark of station and meant you were privy to information those that were uneducated just simply couldn't grasp, and Ramsay did always like to feel intellectually above of his peers. Also, reading about the history of the Bolton family and tales of conquest alongside the horrible acts of flaying always captured Ramsay's interest. After all, the art of war, the heraldry of your allies and enemies, and traditions were useful knowledges to obtain and exploit when you were a ruling noble. Ramsay had always seen himself becoming more than a bastard one day even though as the years had gone by, his confidence had waned and insecurities had filled his heart and mind with anger and hate that he'd never be worthy of more than a sigh of disapproval from his father.

Ramsay wasn't sure why, but just being in this room reminded him of constant failure; it was perhaps the fact that it spoke of his personal inadequacies that he felt towards his own education (he was just passing his twelfth name day when he'd started learning such things,) and generally noble children were far better versed in academics than he had been Ramsay had quickly surmised. He'd gotten in quite a bit of trouble the day that fact had been made painfully obvious by a visiting liege and their seven year old daughter. She'd laughed at his paltry attempts at penmanship with an air of amusement as if Ramsay had been jesting with her about his own abilities. He had not, Ramsay had actually been quite proud to have mastered the alphabet in what he felt was an artful cursive then. He had been trying to impress the girl as Ramsay was rarely allowed to mingle with any nobles. The commoners of the keep had been impressed by Ramsay's skills as none of them hardly knew how to read or write, and Ramsay's comprehension of language seemed a marvel to them.

It had come as quite a shock that this raven haired girl, from the lesser noble house of Mazin, would not only be unmoved by his efforts but show that what he'd thought was rather good penmanship was to her an object of ridicule. The shame he'd felt to have been almost twice her age and have her be so much better than he was at anything rubbed Ramsay the wrong way. She hadn't laughed long though as laughing at Ramsay had cost her. In a fit of rage, Ramsay had violently stabbed her in the hand with his quill tip once she'd realized his writing truly was that awful and had made a point to condescendingly demonstrate the proper manner in which to write. House Mazin did not stay at the Bolton keep long especially after Ramsay had been completely unapologetic.

Roose had been rueful to a point of agitation on behalf of his son scornfully blaming the incident on bastardly blood. Later Ramsay writhed, strapped to a chair with several leeches attached in various places on his chest, stomach, and arms. He screamed for their removal not because they hurt (although the bites had an irritating sting) but because he was being forced to relinquish to the treatment due to his apparent abhorrent lineage. Such reminders were always a worse punishment than any Roose did to him physically, and the old man was well aware of this too.

After the maester let the parasites gorge themselves to the point of voluntarily releasing to roll away fat and contented on their own, Ramsay was left to sit strapped in place alone for hours, bleeding out through the many open wounds that continued to weep due to the anticoagulant in the parasite's saliva. The sight of the streaks of pooling blood gathering in the creases of the curvature of his muscles, his navel, and soaking his breeches had been increasingly alarming as the lack of blood had pushed him into a state of near unconsciousness. Ramsay's thoughts had become estranged to the point of incoherence; it was not unlike the feeling of hearing while underwater and just as disorienting as his head grew more clouded and his body took on a chill from dehydration. Roose followed the maester's return with another jar of bloodsuckers, and the sight of them then was reason enough for Ramsay to weakly apologize. Having such leave of his faculties was terrifying and made Ramsay feel weak and out of control, a feeling he fought tooth and nail to avoid at all costs.

The leeches were said to drain the bad blood from him, but all they did was infuse Ramsay with a further need to play the role he needed to; it was an abject lesson not to disobey Roose's wishes. Roose had not scolded Ramsay that what he had done was wrong, in fact, he mocked house Mazin as no more than providers of goods and men when needed. Roose had informed Ramsay that house Mazin, although of a lesser house than House Bolton, they provided more as an alley than he could as an illegitimate son. House Mazin held worth because they knew their place and their function in the grand scheme of things, and Ramsay would do well to learn his.

Ramsay's cursive became much better after that incident.

Jon was staring at him Ramsay realized, and then Jon had told him that he'd had better things to do other than helping him with his list. It was understandable Ramsay knew as all he'd done since they'd taken to the task was to rewrite what he'd written the previous day and grudgingly shoot down Jon's gentle prodding to list more through asking him relentless questions about what Ramsay could do in terms of work that Ramsay frankly saw as beneath him now. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty and work hard, he was never one of those nobles and actually preferred to do much on his own, but he'd also come a far ways from shoveling horse manure out of stables (and he'd done so along with many other servant labors in his youth for his father's fort), but the thought of 'serving' others that he had no respect for in such a manner was a revolting prospect. Ramsay didn't bow and scrape for anyone (other than Sansa, and that was only because he equally feared her wrath and wanted her affection), but for anyone else, Ramsay was amicable to provide a service yes, but he had no intentions of becoming slave labor.

The insinuation that Jon had duties of far greater importance than him cropped an instant flare of annoyance in Ramsay and set a tone of a burgeoning bad attitude projected by the glare that Ramsay now fixed Jon with as he spat in a huff, "Work with you? What I would impress upon you is that your recommendations are hardly worthy of my skills. Perhaps if you made better suggestions I wouldn't find the need to be so disagreeable, but you've only proposed tasks that a simpleton servant boy could mindlessly do! Surely I can offer these people something better than what every known able-bodied commoner can do?"

It was Jon's turn to display his frustration as his mouth contorted into a thin line of displeasure, "Do you see yourself so far above them that you are incapable of doing that work now?"

Ramsay smirked leaning back in his chair as he twirled the quill between forefinger and thumb, "Depends on your perception of being above them. We can both deduce I'm capable of the work, but whether or not such labors would be appropriate compensation when I have far more useful skills to bring to the table… well, it seems a bit of a waste. Don't you think?"

Jon only glowered for a long moment soaking in the grin Ramsay casually wore. The man was incredibly belligerent and rather narcissistic to think any of the houses he'd wronged would want him to relay any sort of knowledge let alone trust him, "I think you are a fool, Ramsay. These people want compensation, and as you so candidly wrote on your last parchment, they would as soon clamor for your death. Do you really think they would want you to teach their children how to ride a horse or tips on training hounds?"

Ramsay found himself pleased that Jon had mentioned the hounds (it was one of the skills he'd added the first day but had stricken from the list. Ramsay had reconsidered it though and had added it more to vex Jon by their mention) although to be honest, the hounds were one of the few pure joys that he had discovered when he'd come to the Dreadfort. He'd spent much of his time wandering the halls, nooks, and crannies of the Dreadfort exploring as any child would, but it was finding an abandoned pup too weak to survive that had rolled away from the rest of the litter that had built a passion in Ramsay for this particular animal. He'd meant to kill the weak creature, to practice his skills of flaying on its squirming form when he'd first plucked its whimpering mass from the ground. It was Myranda that had changed his mind, a bold youth a little younger than he with a fierce disposition.

She'd asked him what he would do with the pup, and when Ramsay had stated simply that he'd planned to skin it, she hadn't balked in the slightest, instead she only quipped, "You could, but the beast will serve you well if you show it mercy."

Her words had intrigued him, and in spite of himself Ramsay shrugged responding with, "We will see then, if not, I'll show you no mercy."

The girl did not rile or shrink in fear of him as many did; Myranda only countered, "Leave the pup with me, I will teach you how to make it serve you best."

Ramsay had, and from that point Myranda and he had become forever entwined. She was the first to teach him of the ferocity these dogs could have when commanded to attack, and as Ramsay's first bitch grew to maturity he was more than pleased to be the voice that commanded her to rip and rend any animal unlucky enough to catch Ramsay's sights and too slow to escape his hound's eager maw. (He'd secretly named the dog Bethany, after his step-mother that he knew reviled him for the death of her son, Domeric. He fancied commanding her as he did this bitch. Roose was of course was never made privy of his first hound's name; Ramsay was more than sure his father would have killed the beast just to spite him for naming the bitch after his wife.)

True to Myranda's word, Bethany was loyal to him and him alone. Myranda had shown Ramsay that such animals could and would serve him faithfully even when Ramsay had been provoked by other things in his life and had kicked them. They cowered, but they returned to him crouched on their bellies and completely subservient. This devotion Ramsay appreciated wholly, and with it he grew quite fond of them (even more than he liked people which wasn't saying much, but it was something.)

Ramsay tutted at Jon's words, "You have a dire wolf by your side, surely you needed help training it. Why would offering such a skill not be seen as compensation to these noble houses?"

Jon stood suddenly having heard more than enough of Ramsay's quips for one day, "Get up. We're returning to the dungeon where you can continue on your own. You've made it more than clear that you're not taking anything I say seriously, and I've spent enough time catering to your less than true attempts to rightfully substantiate what little you provided yesterday. I would say that I was disappointed if I'd not already expected such a lack of cooperation from you already."

Ramsay's mouth hung agape, and his eyebrows furrowed with incredulity at Jon's statement. He found himself both worried where this might lead (his ass twinged at the sudden reminder of Jon's previous disappointment) and insulted that Jon admitted that he'd expected Ramsay to fail. Ramsay scowled, "Just like that? You're going to call it quits? I can cooperate! Maybe I've not been as amiable to your proposals as you would have seen me to be, but that doesn't mean I haven't weighed them with serious consideration!"

Jon leaned against the table peering down at Ramsay his expression showing a mixture of weariness and exasperation as he sighed, "Other than training dogs, you've not added anything more to the list in all the time we've been here. You've made it apparent that all you wish to do is grouse about the fact that you don't want to be put to work doing anything other than what you want to do to make it up to these people. That's not the restitution my sister is looking for you to make, Ramsay, that's selective and indifferent to those you've hurt in order to keep yourself comfortable in the tasks you're willing to complete on their behalf. I don't understand why Sansa even gave you this task; she should have made the list herself because you're not man enough to put yourself out to truly make amends to these people. You simply don't care what you've done to those you've hurt, and if left to be made accountable, you'll dodge responsibility for your own self-interest every time. You wrote down death yesterday and when asked to explain, you stated it was because you would die a hundred times over for your crimes if it were up to you. When you said this, I felt that remorse may have been the reasoning for your words, but now I more so think it's because you are a coward that would rather be put out of your misery rather than suffer the indignity of righting your wrongs. I never would have thought I would agree with Sansa about not killing you, but now I see that to live for you is a far worse punishment for your highly inflated ego to endure."

The words Jon said to him continued to compound on one another until Ramsay was barely containing himself his face pouring hatred at Jon now and against his better judgement he leapt from his seat. He was tired of playing nice with this man who thought he knew him and what he stood for. Ramsay didn't care now whether he was run through or beheaded in retaliation, he could no longer stomach the words that spewed from the Stark bastard's lips. Ramsay thundered, "You have no idea the mettle I have, bastard! I was the undoing of Stannis Baratheon, I took Moat Cailin with my own cunning! It wasn't by my father's hand, and if not for the Vale, I would have seen your head on a pike outside these very same gates!" He was no coward, and he'd prove it now. Meaning to blind Jon, Ramsay grabbed the bottle of ink from the table and threw its contents at Jon's face before lunging forward to knock the man to the ground as his eyes fervently scanned for any sort of weapon.

Ramsay was not as surefooted in his wrath as he would have liked to have been, and as the ink flew out of its well, Jon raised his arm to shield his face having caught Ramsay's intentions before the liquid could fulfill its purpose. As an immediate answer, Jon used that same arm to lash out and violently backhand Ramsay. Ramsay's own forward momentum worked against him now as Jon's hand crashed harshly into the side of his face spinning him in a downward arch to the floor. This didn't stop Ramsay as he ravenously scrabbled to get back on his feet to attack once more. He'd barely made it off the ground to continue his assault when strong arms were felt cinching around each bicep followed with Ramsay being slammed viciously onto the tabletop.

In his fury, Ramsay had forgotten about the two men that had been quietly accompanying them throughout the entirety of their visit. Cecil and Temeric had vaulted into action to secure Ramsay before he could make good on any further assail against Jon. They held Ramsay in place as Ramsay did his best to buck from the two men's grasp. Feeling desperate now as the reality of the trouble he likely just made for himself crashed down upon him, Ramsay was not unlike a rabid animal trying to bite at their fingers while kicking and stomping at them with his feet.

Jon wiped at the ink that coated his face, and his chest heaved in and out a swirling rage that fought to unleash itself on the pinned man before him. The anger that exuded from his person was palpable as both of his fists clenched on stiffened arms that shook furiously at his sides wanting nothing more than to pummel Ramsay into unconsciousness. Jon imagined taking his head clean off of his shoulders, but as he calmed and continued to watch Ramsay thrash about on the table completely out of control of himself, he understood further why Sansa chose to strap him like an unruly child. That was exactly what Jon saw now, and he found himself just shaking his head.

After a few minutes of exerting himself in this way, Ramsay lay panting on the table eyes wildly darting about and finally coming to settle on Jon with a look that spoke of unbridled vehemence wishing to be released, but he remained quiet now as the wheels in his mind turned to the fact that his attempt was a failure that would no doubt be met with a swift reprise of punishment.

Seeing Ramsay finally calm enough to be reasoned with, Jon asked flatly, "Are you done now?"

Ramsay tightened his jaw as he seethed out a long exhale. His eyes narrowed at Jon baring his teeth as he spat, "Does it matter? I suspect the end result is going to be the same regardless is it not?"

Jon's brow furrowed in disbelief as he shook his head once more, "Most people would see that they've fallen in a hole and look to the sky to find a way out whereas you, Ramsay, you obliviously continue to dig deeper and deeper. I had hoped after last night's punishment and a reminder of where you stood this morning during our walk around the perimeter that we could have moved past the bantering rooster complex that you cling to so fiercely. Again though, you manage to surprise me with your level of insolence and stupidity. It truly is stunning." Jon took a step back and motioned to the door as he addressed the guards, "Bring Ramsay back to the dungeon, have him strip, and chain him face down on his mattress. I'll be down to address him once I've had a moment to collect myself."

The guards hauled Ramsay off the table, and as a last ditch effort of disrespect as the guards dragged his struggling form away, Ramsay spit in Jon's face, "You fucking cunt, bastard!"

Jon pursed his lips wiping at the spittle that hit his chin pushing back the immediate thrill to retaliate but knowing that was exactly what Ramsay wanted him to do. If he beat Ramsay into a bloody mess, Ramsay would win because Jon would have lost his cool with him and become just as uncivilized as he had been. Ramsay swore and cursed at the men dragging him away, and Jon listened until the sounds of his voice was only a faint echo against the stone walls.

Looking about the library now at the stack of books that had been toppled and scattered across the floor and the spatters of ink coating the table in blotchy streaks from Ramsay's struggles left quite a visible telling of the altercation the two had just had. Jon pulled out his chair to sink into it with a tired thud as he ran a hand through his hair. He didn't understand why Ramsay held such a grudge against him and his bastardly status. They were both bastards were they not? It wasn't as if Jon had not felt the same sting of contempt and derision of those that saw him as a stain to his noble house. So why was it that Ramsay fervently adhered to that fact as an insult against him? It boggled Jon, but then Ramsay as a whole was alien to Jon even more so the fact that Sansa found him not to be completely detestable let alone worthy of a chance at redemption.

Sansa had told him that there was more to Ramsay than what Jon had seen, but as it was, Jon simply could not fathom it. It wasn't his place to judge that though as he'd already given that right to Sansa to determine Ramsay's ultimate fate, but in her absence, Jon was Ramsay's warden, and as such, Jon would be damned if he didn't instill a little respect in Ramsay. Jon would have rather had that respect come from mutual enlightenment, but if Ramsay couldn't be bothered to regard him as a peer than he would learn to fear his lack of tolerance for such behavior.


	19. Second Times's a Charm

So, it's finally here! And I know I promised art, but I can't give it this chapter... it's coming (I finished the chapter before getting the piece... and I'm impatient to post and give you guys what I know you want! LOL!)

Lots of blood, sweat, and tears for this chapter! (and not just Ramsay's although they are there too *evil grin*) As always comments = happy, happy writer! LOL!

TGIF! =D (P.S. I totally didn't re-edit the last half of this, so please forgive any errors! Oo)

Chapter Nineteen

Second Time's a Charm

Ramsay wasn't even sure why he fought so desperately as Cecil and Temeric dragged his raging form, with much difficulty, down the corridor. Ramsay spilled nonstop expletives and insults at the men holding him as a form of retaliation for their part in corralling him and subverting his efforts to perform a counterattack on Jon after the man had backhanded him to the floor. Ramsay was mostly infuriated that Jon had not even been caught remotely off-guard by his dirty tactic; he'd been so sure that throwing ink in Jon's face would have given him the upper hand for at least a moment to prove to that haughty self-righteous prick that he wasn't as strong and agile as he'd like to make others believe. Ramsay knew that all it took was one small slip, and he would have had the advantage in their fight; he would have proven to Jon that he COULD have the advantage. Sure, it was a petty win, but Ramsay had wanted it all the same just to prove to the both of them that it was possible. Instead, Ramsay had managed to utterly humiliate himself in his attempt to assault Jon, and now what he'd get for his troubles amounted to no gain either physically or emotionally having not even landed one hit on the bastard.

Servants that saw them or rather heard Ramsay coming stopped suddenly in their tracks curious to observe what all the fuss was about. Seeing whom the captive was, most chose to swiftly move to the side but they still continued to gawk as the three passed. Ramsay roared, "Go on! Keep staring peasants! I'll gouge your eyes out of their sockets if given half the chance!" In his impotent fury, Ramsay planted his feet down stubbornly trying to trip the men pulling on him, kicked out at tables and decorative furnishings in an effort to destroy something in his wake, and otherwise worked to make the journey as problematic as he could muster for the two guardsmen escorting him back to the dungeon.

"Fuck's sake! Why do ya have to be so damn ornery? We ain't brought this down on you; and Lord Stark was doing you a favor just taking you out of the dungeon!" Cecil growled in slight bewilderment as he gave Ramsay an extra push forward in an attempt not to get thrown into another wall from Ramsay's constant passionate struggles.

Ramsay whipped his head around to narrow his eyes at Cecil snarling venomously, "It shows what a half-wit like yourself knows of nobility! That man is not a lord! Convincing buffoons to mar tradition and call him one doesn't change the fact that he's nothing more than a baseborn commoner. Unlike me, HE has been give no royal decree of naturalization to be called anything but a Snow!" Ramsay's eyes had gone wild, and he was practically frothing at the mouth as he screamed his declaration at Cecil.

Temeric feeling Ramsay wrenching towards Cecil as he gnashed his teeth and hissed his contempt merely yanked Ramsay back with a rough tug. Cecil's eyes widened at the ferocity in which Ramsay rebutted his simple statement, and Temeric strained to stay calm, but the aggravation in his tone was unmistakable, "Alright you, there's no need to continue on like this. You're not doing yourself any favors by lashing out at us like you are. Cecil's right, we're not the cause of your frustration; we're just doing what we've been asked. Do you really want to make this harder on us? I shouldn't have to point it out, but if you do, we can certainly just as easily make it harder on you."

Getting the hint and having carried on long enough to expend much of the anger he was feeling, Ramsay considered Temeric's words and although not giving in entirely stopped railing so hard against them deciding instead to surge forward in an attempt to get back to the dungeon more quickly as he groused, "Fine. You wish to threaten me? I can't deny the fact that I'm outnumbered two to one, and I have little to obtain from having you oafs using this fact to my further disadvantage. So then, the quicker we return, the quicker I can get back to ignoring you." Temeric and Cecil merely shared a disgruntled look, but neither chose to respond further just pleased Ramsay was at least mostly cooperating with them.

As they walked in a hurried clip, Ramsay's eyes blazed with a seething fury and his jaw remained clenched with nostrils flaring the pent up anger he still exuded through deep intakes and exhales of stilted breath. He needed to stay angry… Ramsay knew what was to come next, and the fact that there was nothing to be done about it but to continue to roll through the motions had his stomach tightening into a sickening dread.

Silence brought deliberation, and Ramsay's mind couldn't help but to be drawn to the fact that his ass still bore the marks and tenderness of two back to back strappings. The weight of the consequences he was likely to face at Jon's hands started to seep in now that most of Ramsay's blustering and fighting had spent much of the energy he'd used to stoke his wrath. His passion to be spiteful started to fade as they finally arrived back at the dungeon pushing through the yawning door to see his mattress with mussed sheets that wore the heavy iron manacles that mockingly awaited his return. It was then that Ramsay began to feel the tendrils of apprehension begin to fully replace his previous vehemence. The realization that he was being made to feel fear for someone like Jon caused a new surge of abhorrence to flood through Ramsay, but try as he desperately might, Ramsay just couldn't hold on to those embers of animosity. Those feelings were forcibly squelched by the dismay of inevitably the closer Ramsay was pushed towards the awaiting bed too aware of what was to come next for him and the embarrassment to proceed and follow the act itself.

Ramsay's gut clenched as Temeric announced, "I don't think I need to tell you what has to be done. You heard Lord Stark's orders as well as we did."

Of course he did, Jon's words echoed through Ramsay's head; he would be made to strip before being manacled face down on his bed, and they would see. They would see everything he'd tried so hard to hide. Ramsay had been boisterous and incredibly rude to Cecil and Temeric especially from the point they'd slammed him onto the tabletop and led him back here. Now Ramsay had to ask himself in his erratic impulse for a need to hit Jon why he hadn't considered the fact that these guards had no idea what he'd be exposing to strip in front of them as Jon had commanded. Doing so after everything he'd said and done to them and around them made Ramsay feel more than a little ill. These men would now be made aware of the fact that the Starks were actively taking a piece of leather to him to enact discipline for his bad behavior not unlike an errant child. It was enough to make his cheeks and ears burn a deep red as the blood rushed to Ramsay's head leaving him to feel almost lightheaded with the shame of it.

Ramsay didn't make any condescending comment on the validity of Jon's title now, instead, he found himself staring at Temeric dumbfounded as this nightmarish scenario persisted in his mind. Once the guards had strapped him down, would Jon then discipline him in front of them? He could, after the way that Ramsay had acted, he'd have no reason not to.

Ramsay would have demanded an audience, if he were performing this task, solely to amplify the humiliation of the one he was torturing, but he prayed now more than ever that Jon was nowhere near as vindictive as he. Having these men see what had been done to him was one cross to bear, to have them witness it was something altogether far more debilitating to imagine.

Cecil cleared his throat as a note that the two would take action to enact Jon's will if Ramsay didn't start taking it upon himself to do so on his own. Ramsay's window of time was quickly narrowing he realized, and the last thing he wanted was to add further degradation to his person by having to endure his clothes being ripped from him by these two men. He was thankful at least that Cecil and Temeric were not the previous heckling guards that Sansa had dismissed of their duty of overseeing him. Those two would most certainly have made sport of him now and relished the idea of his punishment to come. Rude as he'd been to Temeric and Cecil, Ramsay had to admit they'd been more than fair with dealing with him (even if the idea of having guards and being a prisoner was vexing to tolerate.)

Sighing in defeat, Ramsay's eyes drifted to the strap that still lay ominously across the arm of the plush red chair, it was a symbol of pain to come, and it caused an involuntary shudder to reverberate through him as he carefully sank onto his mattress to slowly begin pulling each boot off. Ramsay set the boots neatly next to the chair as they had been placed this morning for him to retrieve by the servant girl for his outing. He contemplated sourly on how the morning had started off so very well; Ramsay had thought things were starting to look a little brighter for him even having to live under such strict Stark rule as he was being subjected to. It was nearly midday now, not even a full day had gone by, and all the happiness that he'd began the day with had shattered into a morose horror of events that descended into what would likely be one of his worst days. As much as Ramsay wanted to fancy that he could outlast the pain of the strap as he had last night, he was more than well aware that he was already quite sore, and they hadn't even started on this new volley of swats. Last night, Jon was 'lenient,' and Ramsay had nearly wilted to the application. No, Ramsay wasn't that gullible; Jon would most certainly make him fold into bitter tears this time, and the thought of Jon breaking his will to such a point was enough to make Ramsay want to cry now.

Ramsay felt numb to everything around him unable to fully take in the severity of what he was about to face, he couldn't. His body moved autonomously from his mind that had retreated inwardly to a place where his thoughts had already spiraled out of control and now lay too scattered and disoriented to concentrate on anything at all but each moment to moment as it passed. Time had an odd way of warping where seconds seemed like minutes and minutes like hours seemingly slowing down just long enough to make each instant long suffered. Ramsay imagined that his many victims must have felt this very same conundrum of mental agony, and he knew once Jon started laying down the strap that time would again lurch even more sluggishly making each second an excruciating hell to brave.

Ramsay stood once more, his bare feet taking in the coldness of the stone floor. He lifted up and down from the pads of his feet to his heels; the chill on his naked feet making him feel the weight of his soon to be exposure. Ramsay tugged lethargically at his tunic pulling it off and letting it drop unceremoniously on the floor hesitating to relinquish himself now of his pants, the last vestiges of pride he still clung to. His eyes then darted to take in the crumpled mass of furs on the floor, and a light of hope blazed within Ramsay. He may yet keep a shred of his dignity he rationalized as he quickly knelt and retrieved the blanket throwing it over his shoulders before removing the last article of his clothing.

Once divested of everything save the sheltering fur, Ramsay hurried to kneel onto his bed and place himself into the all too familiar spread eagle position to be clamped in irons. He did this without any hesitation or fight in hopes that Temeric and Cecil would just lock him down and leave without further investigation knowing that he had fulfilled Jon's requests of him. After all, it was understandable to wish to have some kind of cover if not for modesty than for the chill of winter alone.

The two men seemed to follow suit with what Ramsay had predicted they would do except after locking him in place, they did not leave as he had hoped. Instead, Temeric and Cecil moved back over to the small table and took a seat awaiting Jon's return.

Ramsay found himself straining to hear any movement beyond the metal door, and any set of boots that clopped by made his insides shrivel and his muscles tense. He had no idea what Jon's gait sounded like (unlike Sansa who he'd practically memorized the sounds of her shoe's soft clicks and the swish of her dress' fabric.) Time had seemed to drag preparing for Jon's arrival, but unlike his former punishment's wait that drew out for hours, Jon appeared far too swiftly for Ramsay to feel in any way prepared to face him like he had been last night. Last night, Ramsay had stewed so long that he was just ready to get the encounter over with; he couldn't decide which was worse now, to be over prepared or under prepared for this sort of confrontation.

Ramsay involuntarily flinched as he snapped his attention to the boots that stopped in front of the dungeon door casting an elongated shadow to creep under its frame. A lump formed in his throat as Ramsay worked to swallow it down, but his esophagus felt like it was further restricting in response to the door opening before him in a protesting groan.

Ramsay hadn't really seen Jon to be all that intimidating when he'd first laid eyes on him (even though he'd known full well the mark of Jon's battle prowess.) Ramsay had known to be cautious of getting in a physical bout with Jon, but he never had planned to best the man in hand to hand combat. He'd had an army, so Ramsay hadn't needed to worry how good a fighter Jon had been as he'd simply expected to see him mowed down in front of him on the battlefield.

To see Jon's steely gaze of determination boring down on him now made Ramsay's eyes widen and a shock of fear crop within his gut. The full recognition of how helpless he was to be manacled down and awaiting Jon's judgement manifested in Ramsay's mind, but he did his best to maintain an annoyed façade resolving to at least appear unafraid even if with every surefooted step Jon strode towards him, Ramsay's game face ultimately weakened.

If Jon saw through his veneer, he said nothing to denote it as he leaned over and quickly snatched the strap from the chair's arm only stopping now to level a calm and collected stare on Ramsay's face.

Seeing the implement firmly gripped in Jon's hand sent a chill up Ramsay's spine and a momentary crack in his exterior as his lip twitched and his neck let go a small reactionary tremor. This humbling tell Ramsay was more than sure Jon had observed; his face flushed in humiliation as his eyes shifted to focus forward jaw clenching tightly as Ramsay was keenly aware how he was actively avoiding eye contact with the man now. Coming down to the wire as they were, Ramsay had imagined he'd be full of spit and vinegar towards Jon ready to verbally tear into him, but he was instead stonily silent and unable to react or feel anything outside of an overwhelming sense of anxiety that sent every one of his nerve endings to prickle in anticipation of Jon's next action.

Jon said nothing as he focused forward to move on to the task at hand. Ramsay watched through his peripheral as Jon continued his undertaking around the side of the bed. As Jon moved, Ramsay couldn't help but to physically feel his looming presence, and his skin rippled to the feeling of cold air like a tidal wave assaulting his flesh.

Ramsay sucked in a mortified breath feeling the exposure of nothing more than his legs and his ass on display. Jon had tossed the lower half of the furred blanket across Ramsay's back to only uncover the necessary area he intended to strike. Ramsay's face contorted in a fierce grimace as his body erupted in an immediate tremble that he couldn't force himself to stop. His body had betrayed him wholly, and Ramsay wanted nothing more than to sob for this loss, but that was at least one thing he was able to control from leaking away from him unbidden.

"I will take it from here," Jon spoke softly as his eyes rose to announce to the guards that he was wishing privacy.

Temeric and Cecil (whom had risen upon Jon's arrival and had remained standing awkwardly at attention to watch on in morbid fascination, quiet onlookers of what felt like a moment that should otherwise have been a clandestinely shared interaction between Jon and Ramsay) were more than happy to take their leave. The two men only gave a quick nod to their lord before practically stumbling over their own feet to swiftly retreat from the room.

He didn't say as much, but Ramsay was inwardly thankful that Jon didn't proceed with his punishment while the other two men were still present and openly gaping at the scene. They'd looked stunned, and the fact that they were so surprised to see what was happening unfold before their eyes only seemed to add to Ramsay's chagrin. He had wished Jon would have saved him the dignity of telling the men to leave first before he'd uncovered his bruised flesh to them and made it more than painfully obvious what was about to happen to him.

Tears pricked his eyes as a new flush of embarrassment coursed through Ramsay. He couldn't believe the shame alone almost had him on the brink of tears. What had become of him? He'd been so proud once; never would he have imagined such a paltry threat as enduring a spanking would cause anything more than a laugh of ridicule from him at the sheer ridiculousness of the notion. That surely was not the case now, and to know as much was more than a little debasing.

Jon's voice carried tiredly overhead once Temeric and Cecil had departed the dungeon, "I don't understand why it has had to come to this again, Ramsay, but regardless of my own understanding, I don't think I need explain why it's happening. If you've anything to say for yourself, speak your peace now, but be warned that further insolence will grant you a lengthy extension to an already severe sentence as I've had more than my fill of whatever beef you have with me. This needs to end now."

Ramsay licked his lips listening to Jon's words intently, and as much as he was terrified to ask, he had to know as he questioned with an urgency that belied his attempt to remain calm, "How many… how many is severe?" He craned his head to look back as much as his restraints would allow; Ramsay's eyes fixed Jon with a wide eyed stare that held nothing but pure nervous concern all pretense of trying to act composed and unruffled falling away to the fear of having already had a taste of Jon's heavy hand.

Jon regarded Ramsay a moment before stating simply, "Thrice the amount of last night."

Ramsay's mouth parted, and the color drained from his face as he shook his head in disbelief, "What!? One hundred and fifty! You… you have to reconsider! Surely twice that of last night would be…" Ramsay trailed off becoming choked on the prospect of stomaching a total of one hundred delivered stripes to his already tender posterior let alone another fifty on top of it.

Jon's expression remained flat; it was hard to feel any ounce of pity for Ramsay's plight after all the headaches the man had caused him culminating into an attack against his person. Jon shook his head, "You have had plenty of chances to take the mercy I've offered, and you spit it back in my face quite literally. No, you've earned every bit of what you will receive. If we're to be candid, you deserve far more," as Jon finished speaking, the strap descended with a solid strike followed by a steady clip of slaps as Jon began the punishment without further ado.

Ramsay screamed out against the ricochet of pain the strap elicited as his body jerked like a marionette to the intensity of the sting Jon dispensed; it was as bad as he'd remembered when they'd left off last night as the considerable bruising cemented the deep seated soreness to rise to the surface and ignite the previous flame on top of this newly added agony. He had wanted to curse the man only holding back calling him a bastard due to the threat of an extension to endure said misery should he be so foolhardy as to test Jon's doggedness not to follow through with his earlier warning.

As much as Ramsay wanted to rally his earlier anger and remain embittered and spiteful towards Jon in defense of himself regardless of what it cost him physically, Ramsay was instead quickly losing stamina to the relentless torturous application of continual stinging pain Jon provided him. The licks unrelentingly fell in brutal succession, and when he'd made it to twenty-five (half of yesterday's installment and only a sixth of what he's been told by Jon to expect today) Ramsay found himself screeching out as he twisted and bounced in his fetters, "No! No! Stop! Wait!" He bucked with a growing panic as Jon did not slow his distribution of unerring swats to the under curve of his ass one iota. Ramsay now yanked fervently against his restraints in a frantic need to evade the maddening pain that continued to build both on his flesh and tear at his mind as he called out, "Parley! Damn it, Jon! Parley!" This was too much to bear after he'd been brutalized the past two days in a row, even though it humiliated him further, Ramsay had to try to get Jon to grant him a small reprieve from this torment.

The strap did not still as Jon spoke in a no nonsense tone, "There is no parley to be had, Ramsay. The only option you have here is to take what is given and learn from it." Jon was not hitting Ramsay any harder than he had the other day, but by the way Ramsay writhed on the mattress, it looked as though he were striking him with a barbed whip rather than a simple leather strap. He supposed the added treatment to Ramsay's previous grievances made what the man withstood now a far worse punishment, but Jon only saw this to be further incentive for Ramsay to wake up and step in line. Something had to give, and Ramsay would find that it would not be Jon.

There would be no clemency Ramsay realized as Jon's statement settled to roost in his mind and an immediate despair took hold of him. They continued on with Jon dropping blow after blow, and Ramsay doing his best to suffer through the awful cumulating scorching burn that blossomed across the entirety of his ass and lower thighs. He'd managed only small grunts of pain at first, but as Jon persisted, Ramsay had begun to yell upon the impact and finally shriek out his distress in agonized screams. He wanted to put his mind elsewhere, but Ramsay found himself unable not to tick away the swats as they were applied to constantly reevaluate how much anguish he still had yet to tolerate.

Somewhere near the seventy-fifth swat, the insight that they were just barely at the halfway mark was enough to cause Ramsay to cry out in between howls of agony, "Jon! Stop! I've learned! I'll not stand against you again, I swear it!" To say that Jon had imparted anything on him was a knife to his gut, but his eyes were already watering from the sheer pain, and to admit this much was better than recanting his deeds. He was on the verge of shedding very real tears, and as much as it shamed Ramsay to lose face and say what he told Jon now, to cry or beg Jon to stay his hand would be far more appalling.

"I'm pleased to hear it, Ramsay," was all Jon said, and as the next five swats fell, Ramsay's resolve withered as he screeched, "Please! I've suffered much at your hands and your sister's! I ask that you to remit just this once for mercy's sake!" Ramsay cringed at the waver in his voice, and when there was no answer other than the heavy handed fall of slaps to his aching rear, the standing tears that had blurred his vision cascaded down the sides of his cheeks as Ramsay silently wept his cries now filtered with the misery of his personal defeat.

Listening to Ramsay's shouts turn into watery squeals and the acknowledgement that Ramsay had been brought to tears struck a chord in Jon to want to stop, but to quit now would show a lack of follow-through which would blur the line of structure that needed to be set in place. Ramsay needed to know that his poor behavior would not be tolerated and would consistently be matched with an immediate answer. They made it to the one hundredth swat, and Ramsay was quite vocally sucking in air and sniveling a mournful keening as each strap landed.

Jon slowed the stream of his application and the intensity of his licks; he had to finish what he'd started, and against his better judgement, he didn't have the heart to continue delivering such harsh slaps when Ramsay had degenerated into such a sad state. Ramsay was normally belligerent to his advances in conversation, but now, he had lowered his head burying his face into the bed as his shoulders shuddered convulsively. The only sounds escaping him were outcries of pain as the strap landed and barely contained whimpers. Jon thought it was now or never to try and get some clear answers out of him, and so he asked, "Why is it that you hold such a grudge towards the fact that I hold the title of bastard, Ramsay? Your vehemence to label me when you are as I am leaves me mystified."

Ramsay screamed out passionately, "You and I are nothing alike!" His words were mixed with anger and hurt as the question made Ramsay also have to question himself. In the state he was in, he couldn't think clearly past the pain enough to formulate a lie, so instead, he found himself speaking true to his heart as he poured out, "I hate you for everything that you are, Jon Snow! You're the bastard that became lord commander, the bastard that these people give false title too when you've yet to earn it! I earned it! I… I did everything to earn it, and it …it never mattered…" the words tightened in his throat as Ramsay now openly sobbed feeling completely lost to his own inner turmoil.

Jon was silent a moment studying Ramsay as he considered his broken words and saw the open wounds that festered below the surface as it started to become more clear what the actual problem was. Jon spoke softly now, "A title is only what you make of it, Ramsay. I'm a bastard, this is true, and every day of my life I fought to be seen as anything else, but at the end of the day, it is what I am and what I will always will be. This doesn't define me, it never did, and it doesn't define you either."

Against his better judgement, Ramsay found himself glancing back over his shoulder at Jon although he flinched and hissed in pain to see the strap still relentlessly counted down the remainder of his sentence. He was grateful for the fact that Jon had decreased the power behind each swat tenfold even though the sting still radiated a trial to endure not crying out pitifully to each stripe connecting with his quivering bottom. He sniffed back tears as he struggled to speak, "I've… I've done things you don't come back from. I can neither take them back nor make them right. That… that does define me," Ramsay found himself looking away as a mixture of shame and confusion swirled through him. He didn't know why he was saying this to Jon, bearing something inside of him that left spikes of vulnerability like weeping lacerations of weakness. His father would have been disgusted, Ramsay thought absently. It was something he was never allowed to do because exposing your neck meant that you were susceptible to getting cut. It was one of the first and most basic lessons Ramsay had learned in life, but his walls were crumbling, and Ramsay found he no longer cared to hide how he felt to Jon. What did it matter anymore? He'd been completely subverted, and the scraps of will he'd vested to hold such a front had finally given way to leave him shattered emotionally.

Ramsay let go gut wrenching wails of sorrow and something more, actual remorse as he let himself sink into the pain Jon was delivering and the pain he couldn't escape internally. Ramsay was coming to terms that who he'd been and the things he'd done were his legacy, and where before he'd worn it like a badge of honor, now it left him feeling hollowed out and empty. He'd hurt so much, and seeing others hurt, letting them feel his pain was a connection, a fascination that became gratification. Now it just haunted him as a part of him that had fallen into depravity to assuage some deeper need that he didn't understand but that over the time he spent as ward of the Starks was coming more and more to light.

Jon let Ramsay sob as he finished the last twenty odd strokes more than glad to be done with causing Ramsay pain. He tossed the strap into the seat of the chair before reaching over to quietly draw the fur blanket back down over Ramsay's scorched flesh. Jon couldn't help but to grimace observing the raised welts and discoloration that decorated Ramsay's backside knowing he was going to be smarting for the next few days. Jon hoped it was more than enough to curb any continued malevolence Ramsay held towards him. Having to go to such extremes felt awful not just for Ramsay but for Jon too whom was never one to enjoy another's suffering.

Ramsay was dimly aware that Jon had finally reached the culmination of the promised one hundred and fifty lashes although somewhere after one hundred where Jon had started speaking to him and he'd completely lost his composure, Ramsay had lost track of the count (which was an agony in its own right.) His ass was practically throbbing, and the slight touch of the furs being drawn down to recover him was chaffing and uncomfortably noticeable.

He was thankful the punishment was finally over, but even still, the tears welled in his eyes and continued to stream from him in what felt like a never ending river of wetness. It was the more humiliating now to be crying in front of Jon with hitched breaths of uncontainable blubbering when the man wasn't even spanking him anymore. The more he tried to pull back his emotions, the harder it seemed to be. He was swimming in a circular cycle completely out of his depth to have to feel these emotions so vividly.

Seeing Ramsay was having difficulty collecting himself, Jon offered as he unlocked Ramsay's manacles much to Ramsay's surprise, "The basest of men can rise above their past and become something more, Ramsay. Sansa sees more in you, and I want to see more in you too, but what we want for you has to be what you want in yourself. What you have done has defined you, but what you do from here on out will redefine you. Your story has not ended; you are still writing it, and every day is a chance to make a new chapter."

Ramsay kept the blanket wrapped around him as he pulled himself up on his knees and wiped his face doing his best to clear the tears away as he stared at Jon still in shock that he'd unclasped him from his bonds. Ramsay looked down now rubbing at his wrists and fighting the urge to reach back and inspect the terrible throbbing sting that persisted on his extremely battered rear. He'd never say as much out loud, but the pain he felt now was definitely more than enough to never test Jon in such a way again.

It was an odd sensation that just like yesterday, even though Ramsay had been considerably more volatile today when he's merited this spanking, once all was said and done, all he felt was an easing calm settling over his mind. They'd cleared the air, and Jon had beaten him full sore, but never once did he speak condescendingly towards him or tear him down, and that in itself was something that left Ramsay reeling mentally. He wasn't sure what to make of Jon's statement, but the sentiment made him feel hopeful, and that was something Ramsay hadn't felt much of in his life.

He brought wide blue eyes back up to search Jon's face, and Jon could see something different in the way he looked at him now, ever expressive and telling, his eyes told Jon now that Ramsay wanted to try. Ramsay's lips strained a half smile as he asked lightly, "Do… do you think we can start over?"

Jon found a small smile forming on his own lips as he nodded, "Yeah, I think so."


	20. Recalibrations

Chapter Twenty

Recalibrations

It was a noble's duty to uphold pacts and tend to matters of the area and the political arena that encompassed, but the majority of the Stark children hadn't actually ever been to the Bolton homestead outside of Rob whom had accompanied their father on diplomatic ventures that tended to span visiting many of the noble houses along the way not just the Boltons, so there had been no real gauge of travel time when Sansa had made arrival and return estimations. Coming to the close of the second day of rigorous travel Sansa had to question how much further they had to go before they started to near the Dreadfort. The answer she'd received had shocked her, the men that had known the area well estimated at least another three days as long as the good weather permitted more if not and that was if they could maintain the almost constant clip they had started with rotating the horses out every few hours to keep them spry. This news had come as quite a shock. Sansa had had Maester Medrick depart the more detailed instructions only to the men in charge of leading the caravan before the team had departed. Plans had been made rather suddenly, and as much as Sansa perceived she'd thought the hasty decision to make this venture through, she was realizing now that this could bode poorly for all of them should anything crop up to cause a problem along the way.

If Sansa had spoken to Ramsay beforehand about where she was headed, he could have informed her it was close to two hundred miles or five to six days of travel by horse to reach his old home, but that had been out of the question since she didn't wish to tell him her plans worried on how Ramsay would behave while she was away if he'd known her intentions for this trip was to discover more about him. It was apparent though that she'd gravely miscalculated the distance; with the new estimated time of arrival, it would take almost twice as long as she'd originally intended.

Jon had not questioned Sansa's projected time of return; being a bastard, he hadn't been overly interested in the rounds their father made with his eldest brother, Rob, mostly because it reminded Jon of his sullied status in their family. Jon had no need to be a part of the pomp of such trips, Eddard had many trueborn sons to take the titled lands of their family and to have accompanied him would have likely been met with derision from some of the other less tactful noble houses (even if only spoken about in hushed tones in darkened corners, it was an ugliness Eddard wished to spare the boy.) Jon didn't begrudge his father for not offering to take him on those journeys, it wasn't his place after all, and Eddard made up for it with other outings hunting and taking Jon around the surrounding homesteads of their lands to help the people that raised their banner; those excursions always made Jon feel less cut from the herd knowing his father did love him regardless of his baseborn title.

Sansa had brought a couple crows on Jon's behest worried that she may get caught in an ambush, and with only two crows to be had (in case one perished on the journey), she wondered if it was wise to send one back now to warn that her return home would be severely delayed. It was too risky Sansa ultimately decided, and she would wait until they'd found this riverside mill Maester Medrick had informed her of before sending out a crow. This way Jon would know exactly how much longer it would take to expect her return. She prayed that the two men would be able to get along well enough in her absence with the extended time added to her trip.

The dilemma at least gave her reason to take her time with her embroidery and sewing which always soothed Sansa especially when her mind raced on the many possibilities this journey afforded her saying she were even able to find the fabled miller's widow. Sansa had been left alone in the carriage for most the day, so it had given her plenty of time to worry and contemplate about both where she was heading and what she was to return to, and so it was now that she abandoned such reservations to the delicate needlework of her stitching to draw her mind away from her anxieties. She couldn't help but to smile at what she'd already made, Sansa was gifted in this trade she'd always been told. The scarf she'd hemmed was a crushed velvet, a dark hue of sapphire blue with thumbnail sized white and grey emblems of the wolf pattern that represented her family's house embroidered upon it. It would make for a nice gift to give Ramsay dually to keep him warm and to further claim him as her own. It pleased her immensely to think of the clothes that she could make him; producing clothing for her family and friends had always been a favored past time that felt so long lost to her after having left Winterfell originally. To do so now brought Sansa to feel a small spark of inner peace and for once in a long time a sense of hearth.

...

It was night fall now, but it had been early afternoon when Jon had left Ramsay to rest having had a need to attend to other business at court with visiting lords, although much to Ramsay's surprise, Jon had promised to return to join him for dinner later that night.

He had been given a bowl of stew for lunch, brought by a servant, shortly after Jon's departure having not eaten anything since the night before. Ramsay had been grateful that he had been allowed to remain on the mattress under the covers for the duration of the afternoon; having only had one of his hands released to eat his stew (which he did so ravenously) before he was again secured to the mattress and permitted a respite from guards and servants alike while awaiting Jon's return later that night.

It wasn't Jon's request but Ramsay's to stay manacled to his mattress over being permitted to wander about the dungeon with guarded supervision. After everything had settled, Ramsay had felt more than a small amount of shame for what Jon had doled out to him even though the two had left off on good terms.

Ramsay was well aware that Temeric and Cecil were more than privy to what Jon had done to him especially after the flash of his already bruised ass revealed what Ramsay had hoped to hide from the two men prior to them leaving the dungeon to stand outside the door and await Jon's further instructions. If it had been a suspicion before, it most definitely was not now. That revelation followed by Jon commencing to lay down a whole new application of visible humiliation upon his already well marked rear (alongside his own high pitched screams and wails that most assuredly were well heard down the hallway and throughout the castle) left the thought of bearing anyone's company a horribly humiliating situation to ponder (especially those particular guards post the way he'd talked down to them and given them so much trouble on the walk back from the library.)

No, Ramsay was more than sure if anyone had not known the extent of his plight, by sundown word would have circulated through the serving staff and any others wandering about the keep that Jon had strapped him into a sobbing mess. Thankfully, the two guards seemed genuinely relieved at Ramsay's request to be left alone and were quick to depart and stand outside Ramsay's cell door rather than in the room with him allowing Ramsay a bit of privacy following the finishing of his stew.

Emotionally and physically the whole ordeal had been quite taxing, and Ramsay had found sleep shortly after his belly had been filled. He welcomed it readily dozing for a couple hours only to wake to echoes of muddled voices and footsteps moving down the corridor. They didn't stop only continuing to fade down the corridor; this happened several times throughout the afternoon as life moved on beyond the door of Ramsay's quiet cell, but no one disturbed him for the remainder of the day.

As the silence persisted, Ramsay found himself sifting through much of the past couple days and the varied emotions he'd felt throughout slogging over trying to write ideas for recompense as Sansa requested of him mixed with his assorted encounters with Jon. As many times prior, Ramsay's mind ticked away contemplating his current situation as it seemed ever evolving into something different. He'd started as a prisoner of war, hated and despised, and that predicament Ramsay had understood. He'd made a sort of peace with the thought of exiting this world after failure had met with his capture. It was an expected end for the failing side in a war after all, but everything else that followed and had continued to follow… it now left Ramsay incredibly confused.

What had the Starks made of him? He was no longer considered a lord and was now even less than an ignoble bastard, but what then had he been reduced to? A slave manacled to a mattress in the center of the dungeon meant for the sole purpose of Sansa's entertainment? A Sansa-made Reek? No, he wasn't like Reek really, was he? Ramsay wasn't sure anymore.

By all rights, he should abhor the Starks, Sansa and Jon both for the things that they had done to him and continued to do in the name of his betterment, but he didn't. In fact, something within Ramsay ached over the absence of Sansa now even though he knew her return more than likely meant that he would be given more of the same stinging treatment Jon had delivered him hours ago for behaving so poorly for Jon in her absence (Ramsay wouldn't admit it to himself, but he was beginning to develop quite a healthy dread of that strap!) Even in lieu of the pain to come, it was worth enduring it, if it meant she would forgive him, and Sansa would grant him her tender touch again. He desired her like nothing he'd ever imagined, and the lack of her presence now somehow left him feeling an emptiness and a hunger deep within his soul he'd never known. And Jon… Ramsay had loathed the bastard prior to Sansa's departure, but then he'd not really known Jon. Ramsay was starting to feel himself growing fond of him admittedly even finding a burgeoning respect for the man (which was unfathomable scant hours ago, and unimaginable to his previous self.) Ramsay not only endured two severe strappings from the man but also felt no ill will towards Jon for having done it in the first place as he surely would have if almost any other person dared to even consider it.

He'd not bequeathed any sense of regard for any other person other than an entertained detachment at best, a vengeful anger at worst, and mostly a coveting for what he deemed he deserved. The people around Ramsay had been stepping stones to power or inconveniently standing in his way. Ramsay didn't make 'friends' he made conditional allies of reciprocal investment or amusement. How now could he feel at all amiable towards Sansa and Jon, his proposed enemies, when he'd never remotely bore these feelings for his own blood… his family, the people that were meant to be closest to him?

Ramsay couldn't put his finger on it; he had feared Roose, respected his father's position and had craved his attention and approval most of anyone, but it was never reciprocated and as with many one sided relationships, it was rife with insecurities and a building underlying hatred for the lack of acknowledgement. Distantly in youth the fogs of memory registered the same want of attention and approval from his mother even though that had been replaced by mutual apathy at a very early age and the largest cause in his inability to form any kind of healthy connection with any other person. Both his first Reek and the Theon-formed Reek had been his emotional punching bags and pseudo sidekicks (although the latter could never replace the first); they had meant something to him (more akin to the bond one has to a pet although if truth be told he favored the dogs more), and then there was Myranda… she had indulged his darkest urges as a suitable playmate willing to follow his every whim, he had liked that about her, but like Ramsay, she had been ruthless. She didn't want him for who he was, Ramsay equaled security, and for a kennel master's daughter, the bastard of a noble was more than a fine catch. Ramsay had made that realization long ago, but having come to know nothing but equating a person to what use they granted, this was not only acceptable but expected. All of these people had meant something to Ramsay in varying degrees, but this… this was somehow different.

The correlation was off, it was an imbalance that Ramsay couldn't quite grasp. Everything around him felt like a slippery slope of colliding lines where he was no longer sure of his footing or where he stood other than on a precipice where there was no bottom in sight and no other direction than that in which he was pushed in. He was afraid of what he was becoming, but he was also eager to shed who he had been (a man that knew nothing but how to be hated or feared.) He'd never had qualms with the man he was before, even if father hadn't approved of some of his methods, Ramsay had always been his own man left to his own devices. His father had always bred independence in his children (or so Ramsay had perceived when in reality it was just neglect to care unless it affected Roose personally or politically.)

Someone truly did care now, and where Ramsay may have never believed in, understood, or accepted such a possibility before, the genuine feeling that he could be cared for sent a seed of doubt to manifest within him. He couldn't help but to question himself and the very things he once wholeheartedly believed was the foundation of importance in his world. Power and control of everything around him had been his only true motivation in life. Ramsay was coming to the realization that he wasn't really sure who he was or what he wanted anymore, and that fact was more terrifying than slipping on the guise of his former servant Reek because he was defining this new role, and it beckoned nothing but uncertainty and fear of failure to please and something more… a prospect to develop into something better than what he had let himself previously become. There wasn't just an expectation of a mandated structure to comply to; there was confidence and belief in him that he could choose to change on his own, and the opening of a door over the bludgeoning of a hammer altered Ramsay's perspective to actually consider wanting to for them as much as for himself.

Was he worthy of Jon and Sansa's faith? His father had never believed him to be anything more than a poor alternative to a trueborn son to further his own legacy, no matter how hard Ramsay had tried to impress him; but in lieu of all the ways he'd hurt Sansa and Jon, they were still willing to make an effort to give him another chance. Ramsay couldn't comprehend why they would, but he found a large part of himself clung to their hope as an internal need for transformation that he'd never knew how badly he'd craved but more so the positive human connection that the Stark siblings had begun to foster within him.

As the sky changed from harvest golds to ice chip blues, a small knock resounded on the door, and Ramsay was finally brought out of his inner reflections to focus his sights on the creaking dungeon door. A guard, that was neither Cecil nor Temeric, opened the door for a few servants that bustled into the room clearing off the small table and tidying up the area.

Ramsay did his best to not make eye contact with any of them as they moved about his space; he couldn't help flushing as he shifted on the mattress suddenly acutely aware of the prickling sting that still emanated across his ass painfully from under his fur covered sheet. Jon had done quite a number on him, and it would show like a crimson and plum welted beacon across his very pale skin, a branding of further shame, if he were now released from his shackles and made to rise off of his bed in concurrence of Jon's soon to be arrival. Ramsay was more than quite aware of his nakedness now due to this fact, and it made the want to just remain covered under his furs for the rest of the night in continued solitude a much more appealing option than sitting uncomfortably squirming on a hard chair surrounded by guards and servants in order to join Jon for a proper dinner at the table they were setting. He silently deliberated just telling Jon that he wasn't hungry and too tired for company, but his stomach would belie his words by the way it rumbled as a dinner trays were brought in and the multitude of scents of delicious smelling foods meant for the two of them wafted about the room.

Jon came shortly after, apparently talks with the gathered nobles had taken their toll on the man as he looked worn down and tired. He glanced at Ramsay whose eyes had been flitting about the room taking in the flurry of servants while trying to remain otherwise impassive to the goings on around him. Ramsay's eyes met Jon's, and he gave Jon a small respectful nod of acknowledgement. There was no sign of hostility or challenge reflected back at him that Jon had become accustomed to as a greeting from Ramsay, so it took a moment to register the emotions Jon did see on his face.

Ramsay's expression reflected hesitance with an arched brow in what Jon could only perceive as worry; it didn't take much to put together Ramsay's misgivings were centered around the servants and guards as his eyes began to dart furtive glances at them as they continued to perform their given tasks before flicking back up to Jon his bottom lip getting occasionally sucked between his teeth in a nervous sort of twitch. The color in Ramsay's cheeks and the tips of his ears reddened as Jon stepped closer taking in the sights that Ramsay was seeing before kneeling to release one wrist and then the other. As he did so, Jon spoke in a soft tone so only the two of them were privy to his words, "Remain on the bed, and once they are finished setting the table, I will dismiss the servants and guards."

Ramsay nodded gratefully watching as Jon continued around to release his feet. Ramsay's voice cracked slightly as he muttered back to Jon, "…I'm in your debt." He visibly relaxed letting out the tension with an audible exhale as he drew his arms into the blankets and under himself enjoying the change in position and the ability to have his limbs move freely once more. Ramsay pulled the blanket up around and on top of his head effectively cloaking himself from the scene around him deciding he'd lost enough face for one day. He mentally lulled himself into a passive hum willing for all the activity to finish and finally cease leaving the room vacant save for himself and Jon.

It was more than a little comforting to know that their meal would be a private affair, and as far as Ramsay could tell, devoid of any further humiliation; at least if any embarrassment was to follow, it should remain solely between the two of them who were already well aware of what had transpired. Ramsay found he had no intentions or want of causing any form of altercations with Jon now, but it wasn't for the same reasons he had kept peace with his father. Ramsay inwardly always braced himself for his father's wrath or hurtful quips at his expense and more so, Ramsay had feared his indifference, with Jon there wasn't fear only a growing curiosity and respect.

Even though more than a small part of Ramsay knew that Jon had the capabilities to make him suffer greatly at the drop of a hat, unlike Roose, Ramsay understood that Jon wouldn't escalate an issue unless he, himself, made an issue. In that way, Ramsay was able to feel a sense of serenity in the relationship he and Jon were developing; there was an unstated trust of fairness in regards to the way Ramsay would be treated which this too was a great anomaly for Ramsay to wrap his head around.

For the longest, Ramsay hadn't been able to decide if the Starks were naïve or simply just put their personal code above all else. He'd thought the first when he'd assessed them initially, but the more Ramsay grew to truly absorb what it was to be a Stark did he realize it was really the latter. What was more perplexing to Ramsay was that he was actually beginning to admire their personal convictions whereas before it only drew about a sense of repulsion and grating aggravation to the way it made his own banner men look down on him.

True to his word, once the serving crew had finished, Jon dismissed them informing that he would call for them to clear the table upon his departure. There were no questions asked although a few of the servants and both the guards seemed to evaluate Jon's decision as surprising their expressions stating as much as they all filed out. Having emptied the room, Jon glanced back at Ramsay and gestured to the table, "I'm famished; please, come and join me, Ramsay."

Ramsay had quietly watched the others work and Jon equally from beneath his hooded blanket where only his chin had been visible throughout the remainder of the servants fulfilling their duties. Ramsay had pulled himself up to sit his weight on his legs tired of laying down but also being mindful of his throbbing ass; the thought of sitting at all was highly unattractive (especially on a hard seat without any cushioning.) As loathe as he was to join Jon under such arrangements, Ramsay wasn't going to make mention of it… ever; he'd die of embarrassment first.

Ramsay tentatively moved across the bed on his knees to slowly rise wrapping his blanket more tightly around himself as he padded over to the suggested seat looking down at it with a grimace and a moment's hesitation before deciding how best to lower himself carefully with the least amount of impact to his tortured cheeks and thighs while hopefully remaining dignified enough to do so without relative notice by Jon.

Jon had noticed, he was attentive, but more so, he'd been the one to deliver the punishment and had seen the results of his attentions first hand as he'd concealed Ramsay's well spanked ass from further view once the deed had been completed. Ramsay had deserved every bit of it, but a small fraction of Jon still felt a tad bad for the suffering the man had to endure now that the problem had been addressed and sorted. He found himself wondering how Sansa had felt when she'd done so herself. Both instances Jon had delivered a tanning had left a sense of discontent to have done it, but Jon found each time he'd chosen to spank Ramsay he'd also not regretted the action when all was said and done. As unconventional as giving a grown man a strapping was, Jon had to admit that maybe Sansa really was on to something. The results were proving to be undeniably beneficial to keeping in check Ramsay's bad attitude and behavior. This more pleasantly reserved and restrained Ramsay was a far cry from the man that had spit in his face earlier this afternoon; it was a marked improvement although Jon would not make mention of as much.

Jon sat pulling his chair to scrape forward and align himself with the table bringing his eyes up to see Ramsay was still mostly shrouded in his furs looking down at the food. As Jon situated himself, Ramsay's eyes moved to regard the man, and Jon inhaled deeply, "I asked for a bit of variety as I'm not sure what you really like," Jon stated lamely for lack of a better opening statement.

Ramsay nodded taking in the five different items as he responded indifferently, "It's all the same to me… I've never been horribly picky." Ramsay hadn't had an option growing up as any food to a peasant had been a blessing. Even with the meager stipend Roose had sent to his mother, it was never enough for fancy dining over coin used to pay for services and repairs to keep the mill running. Roose had insulted Ramsay's small frame by making mention when he'd first laid eyes on him that it was obvious his mother hadn't fed him properly to have come to him with poking ribs that gave him the look of a mange-ridden mongrel. Ramsay had filled out some since coming to live with his father, but he never grew anywhere near the height or girth of his sibling Domeric. It was just another reason he'd envied his brother as even in death, Domeric was the strapping man that Ramsay would never be.

Jon nodded to Ramsay's statement standing up and reaching to start spooning out some of the food on to each of their plates, "Good; that makes dividing up the food an easy task." Ramsay could have helped himself, but Jon was trying his best to make him less uncomfortable by not having to rise from his own chair to fix a plate for himself. Jon made quick work of dispensing out portions for each before settling in his own seat once more.

"Thank you," Ramsay murmured looking down at his prepared plate with an understanding as to why Jon had made it for him. It made a flush of shame course through him to know the reasoning behind the kind act although he was grateful for it all the same.

Jon sensing Ramsay's embarrassment and having no words to say that would make him feel better only found himself clearing his throat uncomfortably as he adjusted himself in his seat picking up his utensils and hurriedly moving to eating off his own plate.

Following suit, Ramsay was more than happy to discontinue the awkward conversation and move directly to dining in welcomed silence.

The two continued to eat the majority of their meals this way before Jon's brow crinkled as he thought on the many topics discussed in the grand hall. It left a lot on his mind with several of the houses awaiting further direction and consensus to act now that the Starks were once more back in control of the North. Rumor had reached the council that there were fleets heading for Westeros from Meereen which had obvious cause for alarm noting some of the ships flew Iron Borne flags. Sansa had forgiven Theon, and after the state he'd seen the man reduced to, Jon had felt obliged to do the same. Sansa had mentioned to Jon when they had delivered Theon to the ports that he was heading North to rejoin Yara, his sister, although Jon had to wonder presently if those fleets may not be vengeful Iron Borne heading to Winterfell next to find out whether or not Sansa had been victorious against Ramsay's hold on the North and what kind of problems might come about to know the man had been defeated although still lived as their prisoner.

More disconcerting were the followed sightings of supposed dragons alongside these ships. If the mere suggestion had been brought to Jon a year ago that there were dragons flying about, he would have been hard pressed to believe it, but after spending time on the Wall and fighting Wights, Jon had little room to doubt much in the way of super natural beings. Jon did not consider Ramsay an ally in war, but that didn't mean that he might not have valuable information. He paused in his contemplation leveling his gaze on Ramsay, "What do you know of the far North… Slaver's Bay?"

"What do you mean?" Ramsay dipped his biscuit to sop up the gravy from the mashed potatoes on his plate popping the piece of bread greedily in his mouth as he stared at Jon curiously. He had no idea of anything happening that far north, his father didn't inform Ramsay of much that he didn't wish to address openly since his son tended to react first and think later. Many had heard rumor of this mother of dragons, Daenerys Targaryen though; she was becoming a bit of a fairy tale legend in an otherwise bleak time. Most in Weteros saw it as just that though, a fairy tale imagined by those ranting drunkenly off milk of the poppy. Ramsay smirked as he continued, "You're not expecting mythical winged lizards ridden by the infamous dragon queen to come swooping in for a visit are you?" Ramsay was joking, but upon seeing the seriousness in Jon's face, he balked shaking his head his smile growing, "No… you can't be serious. You don't actually believe that hogwash do you?"

Jon's lip twitched as he remained quiet a moment longer realizing Ramsay didn't actually have any tidings to depart. He looked down shaking his own head, "It's a little farfetched I agree." Jon left it at that returning to his meal without saying more on the matter, but now Ramsay having nothing better to discuss prodded, "What have you heard? Have there actually been sightings?"

Jon sighed realizing that bringing the topic up wasn't necessarily a good idea now as Ramsay seemed quite adamant to know the details. He didn't want to lie to him, but he also wasn't interested in engaging Ramsay further in a debate that he'd already gone round and round in with numerous worried houses. He shook his head, "I can't really say, people talk and people worry. I was just wondering if you'd been made privy to any news yourself while holding the North." Jon had regretted saying the words as soon as they left his mouth seeing the instant frown that drew across Ramsay's face to be reminded of his loss of the North. It was the truth though, so Jon made no move to repeal it regardless of how it made Ramsay feel.

Ramsay merely shrugged looking down at his plate as responded depreciatingly, "No… I didn't. It's a ridiculous notion, and you shouldn't believe it. There's a greater threat lying in wait in King's Landing if you hadn't heard. Something about religious freaks making a coo over the Lannister's… not that the Lions are much of a threat these days anyway," Ramsay couldn't help a soft chuckle thinking of Locke, the man who had professed to take the King Slayer's hand and who was sent to the Wall to infiltrate the Night's Watch and find out if Bran and Rikon Stark still lived (obviously at least one of them had since SmallJon Umber had been able to present Rikon as an opening trade for an alliance against the Free Folk.) Locke hadn't been heard from again, and as much as the memory of the man called Ramsay to ask of him, Ramsay assumed that some things (or in this case people) were best left to fade into the background. Nothing good would come of his relations with Locke anyhow as the man and Ramsay shared too many of the same nasty proclivities. The reminder of the man though sent a stirring through Ramsay as past activities flooded back to him, and he was prompted with old memories of pain he'd caused others which only signaled a corresponding ache to reminisce where he hurt now as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. No, it certainly wasn't much fun being on the receiving end of the pain.

Not having any idea where the chuckle had emanated from but assuming it lay in context to Ramsay's words about the Lannisters, Jon rebutted, "I've not heard any news about King's Landing. A lot of houses are losing to one war or another, but the Lannisters are the least of my worries at the moment although they may prove to be a threat at a later date. If what you say is true, these religious zealots will help to keep them from becoming a problem. We have enough troubles right here to worry about."

...

Jove reallocated his weight from one foot to another trying to brace himself against the whipping cold, "I can't believe that high borne bitch put us out here while that little shit is living the life in there having dinners with the lord of the house and what not."

Reginald snorted derisively, "Lord? He's a bastard too you know, and from what I hear, he's got the punk squealing like a pig!"

Jove stuttered out a half laugh, "What I wouldn't give ta have seen that. Ya think he's twigging him like the lady of the house?"

Joining in on Jove's joke, Reginald chuckled, "Who knows what them Starks get up to, but I have heard word that they're not the only ones interested in our little friend. Word has it, that little cunt might be worth a bit of a promotion if'n you're willing to turncoat. Way I see it, the Starks have already shown their more loyal to prisoners than their own hard working soldiers. What say you Jove; are you tired of manning this wall? Cause I'm interested in better opportunities, but I'm gonna need to know you've got my back."

A malicious smile grew across Jove's face, "Anything sounds better than freezing me balls off out here on this here wall."


	21. Defrayed

Chapter Twenty-One

Defraying

Sansa's lips trailed across his shoulder like heated rose petals leading up to the nape of Ramsay's neck. The sound of her leveled breathing coursed a thrill down his spine as her face came within mere centimeters of his; her proximity could be felt in a radiating wave that sent tendrils of eagerness to electrify his every nerve. Each hair prickled alive to stand on end as her breath caressed his cheek and her closeness branded him with her warmth and a flush of desire. Her words drifted to him in a sultry whisper, "You're mine, Ramsay, and now that I have you, I'll never let you go."

Ramsay moaned longingly as Sansa's words stirred a turbulent wave of emotions within him. He wasn't sure what to make of these feelings as the implications of her statement conflicted with the remnants of his still bruised ego, but an even more deprived part of his subconscious heaved in satisfaction at the thought of Sansa wanting him so fiercely that she would be covetous of him.

In this safe place within his mind, Ramsay gave himself over completely to Sansa without hesitation, he wanted to be hers. His ecstasy swelled in a truncated gasp lost in the wake of her domineering kisses that fought to further stake their claim of him and push her own declaration of determination over his crumbling resolve to be in control. Letting go to be swept into her thirst sparked a deep seeded passion to rock through him as Ramsay clung to the wistful craving of fading into Sansa's touch.

He envisioned her ghost hands shifting across the curvature of his body to grope at him in remembered figments of his time spent with Sansa since she'd taken him prisoner. Her hands slid smoothly over him in sensual and explorative sweeps but soon led to cascade into grasps and kisses that sought to wholly possess him with a savageness he'd never felt prior with any other woman. These handlings were laced with an aggressiveness Ramsay never would have willingly tolerated receiving before without equal exchange, but he found himself almost willing and wanting to succumb to what he could only now uniquely identify as Sansa's will.

His mind scattered with fragments of her essence; the smell of orchids from the oils she lathered into her skin, the wispy tendrils of her red locks tickling his skin when they trailed across him, the flush that trailed down her neck when he saw she was aroused, the light quirk of her lip when she was amused, the heaving of her pliable breasts, her taste, her heat, all the things that spoke to Ramsay to be intimately Sansa. These lucid contemplations swirled within Ramsay until he found a solidity of imagining her the night before she'd left, the night where she'd punished him and more so also consoled him.

Ramsay's mind altered onto this new track of reflections as his throat tightened in reminiscence of being brought to tears by her. He didn't like being punished, hated it even, but those tears he'd shed had been a cathartic release. There had been so much pent up anger, anguish, and confusion warring for dominance of his subconscious that he'd never realized prior to her disciplining him he'd been practically drowning in a sea of white noise within his own head.

Ramsay inhaled deeply feeling the moment as if it were happening again then and there. He lay atop her firm thighs as the dull ache and irritation of his swollen flesh coalesced within his fevered thoughts to connect with Sansa's words of concern telling Ramsay how she wanted him to stay safe for her because she hadn't wanted to lose him. No, she had stated she was afraid to lose him, and this statement ratified to Ramsay's heart that Sansa didn't just see him as an object (as he'd feared when this had all started and he comprehended he was becoming attached to her); he knew through this pronouncement to him that Sansa cared about his wellbeing. She worried for him, and she was willing to take measures to protect him from harm (even from himself.)

No one had ever invested that much in Ramsay before, and whereas at the time when Sansa had taken him in hand, it had left Ramsay to feel shell shocked, now the memory of her doing so resonated within him a foundation of shelter that made him feel special to her and more importantly valued. Ramsay didn't recognize it in his own mind yet, but what was formulating within him was more than just a desire to please Sansa; Ramsay wanted to be with her, to be loved by her because he himself had begun to love her as he'd never known love before.

Ramsay's vision shifted, and he was no longer on Sansa's lap. They were coupled, knees flush on the mattress, and sitting upright in an embrace where his face was buried in her shoulder; all that mattered here was her warmth and closeness. In the silence their unified hearts beat a rhythm that thrummed in Ramsay's ears as he cherished the feeling of the way their bodies now pressed into one another timed by the steady rise and fall of their chests. Ramsay inhaled her scent sensing it most strongly in the dip of her shoulder and tangles of her hair. She had been clothed before when this same moment had occurred, but now as the mercurial fantasy altered, Sansa was naked and all the soft parts of her supple body met his like a puzzle piece finding its fit.

Ramsay had not known Sansa's body compacted against his front since he'd been bested by her (although the thought of feeling her pressing tightly against his groin now he wished to incorporate in his lustful fantasy.) He'd been the one in control of their relationship then, but even though this memory had been taken from a point where Ramsay had been the aggressor, those more dominant tendencies that had ruled his sex drive during the act of raping Sansa didn't enter into this fantasy now nor did Ramsay want them to.

In the past, Ramsay's fantasies had only involved him ravishing the woman of his fleeting desire in the most violent of ways where their fear had meant his climax, but now and never before, Ramsay grew heated and rock hard just from the thought of kissing Sansa's parting lips as she returned his passion reciprocally. Intimacy had in no way appealed to Ramsay before, he'd never wanted that from a sexual partner, and from prior experience, he'd had nothing to draw from to wish for it. That wasn't the case now as every experience with Sansa was broadening this new horizon within Ramsay to the point he now yearned for the subtlety of such actions.

This fantasy had become something frighteningly different from anything Ramsay had used to bring himself to a quick release as the flashing imagery of their bodies crushing together drove a burning sensation inside of Ramsay reflecting his growing need of closeness to Sansa. Ramsay wanted to feel every part of Sansa especially those intangible captivating moments that he'd only felt when their lips had locked, and Sansa had poured her avarice upon him like molten lava that he was more than willing to meld in to.

Ramsay held Sansa, no clung to her as she aggressively pulled him by the hip to press tightly against her frame kissing him breathless as her other hand grazed across his heated backside possessively. In this act, Ramsay felt her tenderness with the added reflection of desire, it was the same manner of stroke Sansa had exhibited while he had laid draped across her lap, strapped and full sore; it was as if that fondling from her had been etched into his skin. The pain he felt (and that now merged to make more vivid the imagery in his mind's eye) had been inflicted by Jon, but some part of Ramsay now associated the radiating sting on his ass into a remembered extension of Sansa and their last shared intimate moment. The sensation incorporated itself now into his fantasy mostly due to the friction of the back and forth motion of his blanket sliding across his very sensitive flesh as Ramsay gyrated animatedly against the mattress more than lost to the mental cinema he was creating.

Ramsay's eyes were pressed tightly shut as he jerked pumping against the sheets to his imaginings; his cock throbbing and begging for release. It had been some time after all, and with so much sexual simulation over the past two weeks, (warranted and unwarranted) it had left Ramsay's body more than ready to react on the pent up frustrations he now felt rushing out of this half-conscious dream. Without further provocation, Ramsay's eyes shot open as his face lifted from the mattress with a choked cry, and his climax pulsed out of him spilling his warm seed beneath him and into the sheets. His breath came in shallow pants as the tremors of elation left him to be replaced with a sinking shame for the mess he had made and ultimately the submissive fantasy of Sansa possessing him wholly that he'd just succumbed to.

His head lowered back onto the bed, and Ramsay noted dimly his disheveled hair clinging to his brow wet with perspiration from the exertion he'd just extended. It was hard to digest what exactly he'd just pleasured himself to. It was another unfamiliar occurrence in a string of strange happenings to further grip Ramsay's mind and baffle him on the reasoning why he now hungered for such treatments he'd have never stood for happening to him only weeks ago.

It was as if a switch had flipped within him for a need to relinquish control to Sansa; she would guide him to find the strength within himself to do what was required for him to continue to grow and push forward. Ramsay needed Sansa to make him whole, and some basic part of him knew that he couldn't find that part of himself without her care and affection to trigger it in the first place. He didn't know what she had done, but he knew the change in his perception had altered irreparably, of this he was thankful for even if it made him feel weak and vulnerable in ways he'd never contemplated, it also brought him a far greater understanding that he was no longer an island drifting alone in a sea of shark infested waters living under the guise of family.

He shifted uncomfortably feeling a little more than disgruntled for the fact he was unable to mentally or physically escape what he had just done or the fact that he would remain chained on top of his sullied sheets until he was released to do his daily wipe down with a rag (he could tell from the wetness he felt and how hard he had cum that there was quite a bit of a mess to clean up.)

With the morning upon him and the sun risen well enough that the castle was humming with its daily activity, Ramsay found himself flushing and more than hopeful for it to be a late morning start to give time for his sheets to dry and absolve him of any noticeable evidence lingering under him. It would be horribly embarrassing for any of the help to find out what had transpired and doubly so if Jon were to be there for such a discovery being that he'd already promised to fetch him for breakfast and other activities outside the dungeon once he'd left Ramsay the previous night. The awful notion struck Ramsay then that anyone, guard or servant, could find out his dirty secret if they came now to collect him as there would be no way to avoid it's obvious presence on the sheets without some serious deflection. He could leave his fur blanket to shield the mess, but that would unveil the remnants of marring left on his pale cheeks afforded him from his strappings. It would leave quite a sight to be viewed by all present, and that would be a far more embarrassing a display to undergo over the recognition he'd sullied his sheets with a wet dream.

Luck, for once, seemed to be on Ramsay's side as he remained undisturbed for long enough after the deed had taken place for all proof to dispel well before the guards ventured in with the servants for his morning routine of washing up, dressing, and use of the privy. Seeing Temeric and Cecil again did leave Ramsay quieter than normal still feeling rather humiliated from their last encounter, but the men never made mention of the previous day and gave Ramsay the necessary space he needed to perform all tasks involved with readying himself to head out of the dungeon.

Ramsay had been discreet after being released from his bindings pulling his blankets high over himself shrouding his person from view as he climbed stiffly off the bed to slink over to the rag and wash bucket. He hovered closely in a huddled squat enveloping the bucket into his blankets to quickly and privately clean himself of the filth he'd been laying in for close to an hour. He did his best to let as little of his body become visible as possible while the servants milled about waiting on him to attend to his hygiene needs.

It was a stark contrast to his normal behavior any whom had known Ramsay as a lord or bastard of one would have noticed easily. Ramsay had always been bold and unapologetic in his nakedness around them (often to a degree of rudeness brushing himself against the more attractive young servant women or the prudish ones no matter the age or looks that he could easily fluster and get a lively reaction from), but of course such behavior would surely not be tolerated by him now.

Even if he could get away with it, Ramsay didn't have it in him to try anything discourteous or meant to intimidate as he had done the day before, but then he'd not felt the levied shame upon himself he did now knowing that if not all of those present more than half of them knew what had transpired yesterday afternoon with Jon, and the knowledge that countless others knew of his indignity haunted him now as it had done earlier. He had to wonder if he could ever escape such humiliation to his person. It was enough to thoroughly strip Ramsay of the want for anyone to notice him further than their services required, and if possible Ramsay wished they'd not see him at all.

She noticed him though, the girl he'd taken such joys antagonizing the day before when he'd first gone to meet Jon for their walk around the perimeter. This servant girl no longer wore the veneer of worry that Ramsay had found amusing when he had loomed closely over her just to evoke such a response. She instead stared dumbly at him with wide eyes as if he were a curiosity one would take in from a wandering freak show.

Ramsay scowled at her giving her a fierce glare in an attempt to get the girl to look away, but she surprised him now as the once timid girl did not shrink from his rancor as she'd done the morning before. Her then dull expression of wonder shifted into a devious smile that split her face with its width, a knowing grin that told Ramsay she wasn't afraid of him any longer. It was Ramsay who then turned away; he could still feel her cocky grin upon him without having to look in her direction, and it made his scowl deepen. Her boldness even though he'd not seen her since that particular morning was further affirmation of what Ramsay had already anticipated, too many were now aware of his plight and his punishments. Rumors were always rampant in a keep no matter where you were or whose house you were from, people just liked to gossip. With the winter upon them and little else to occupy those trapped in tight quarters, rumors were even more prevalent to spread. Such a solid disclosure though stung Ramsay's pride greatly to know it wasn't just in his own mind (as he'd secretly hoped) but a reality he'd have to learn to cope with.

Having finished washing, Ramsay stood and stepped away from the bucket to amble over to the new clean outfit that awaited him. It was heavy and reinforced with down in the lining, so Ramsay assumed it also meant another trip around the grounds. Ramsay had mixed feelings about leaving the dungeon now whereas yesterday morning, he was excited to venture away from the excruciatingly boring setting. Today though, he was met with the circulating knowledge of everything that culminated to his and Jon's fight yesterday, his raucous display down the corridor, to Jon's answer of leather on his backside, and his pained screams echoing his humbled defeat for all within earshot to bear witness to. Word would have spread about the keep like an insidious virus (not unlike any other plague) no doubt horribly mutating into an even more scandalous story than the actual truth.

No matter the tale that proliferated, Ramsay knew at the end of it all, he was going to be a laughingstock! (Maybe even more so now if the fact that he was getting spanked regularly became common knowledge. Not that getting raped by Sansa wasn't a ridicule to bear its own weight of shame, but with rape, people saw the act with more empathy and could relate more to his humiliation and maybe feel less glee for him being on the receiving end of it. He doubted anyone would feel at all sorry for him knowing he was getting his ass tanned with a strap, a punishment usually reserved for one's children or wife. Getting spanked took a different demeaning toll as it spoke of not only discipline but a leniency to give a harsher punishment which was tarnishing to Ramsay's ego in its own right and perhaps reason in itself that Sansa had initially introduced it.) Ramsay's mind conjured the catcalls and jeers he was sure to face walking out into the midst of his encamped Wildling enemies; it made his stomach twist and his chest tight feeling stricken with the notion. As these thoughts raced through Ramsay's head, he found himself just staring at his new set of clothing with jaw set in a visible pout wholly unmotivated to dress at all.

Temeric noted Ramsay's hesitance and ushered the few stragglers that still remained in the dungeon out to ensure Ramsay a bit of privacy once the servants had cleaned the quarters and removed the items brought in for his daily grooming. The dismissed servants quickly filed out leaving only the three of them for the part where Ramsay would need to shed his blanket to dress his naked form.

Ramsay swiveled to watch Temeric give the command to the servants before he turned to Ramsay offering a grimace and a short nod for encouragement. Once the room had cleared, Temeric circled to face away from Ramsay to a vantage that Ramsay could be watched through his peripheral but not directly. It was meant as a sign of respect and given solitude sensing Ramsay was more than a little reticent to dress in front of them. Cecil hadn't quite gotten the memo still staring at Ramsay expectantly until Temeric cleared his throat and a surprised Cecil blinked before a dawning recognition flooded across his face as he twisted into the same stance as Temeric to also give Ramsay space (or as much isolation as could be given a prisoner.)

Ramsay took this in with a mild note of curiosity and thankfulness that these two men would be kind enough to afford him a reprieve from further disgrace not only from the staff but themselves. It wouldn't have surprised Ramsay if those servants that had been lingering about after their apparent chores had been tended to weren't just wishing to see what truth lay in the circulating rumors that came from the night prior. Ramsay was silently appreciative that he wouldn't need to give them a show of ridiculously trying to dress and hold up his furred blanket at the same time. As it was, Ramsay was able to shift beside the velvety chair to face his tarnished ass away from the guardsmen to begin the slow painful task of donning pants.

Temeric and Cecil didn't rush Ramsay as he readied himself fully, and the three of them headed quietly from the dungeon and down the busy corridor to a private dining room set off from the kitchens where Jon was already in attendance. Ramsay hadn't noticed Jon's presence until Temeric and Cecil had stopped walking stiffening in respect to their lord's presence. During their walk, Ramsay had kept his eyes mostly on the floor in an attempt to avoid eye contact and therefore any possible confrontation that could result from any hint of mockery he might glimpse on their faces. Ramsay was afraid of his own proclivities towards volatile reactions especially in the challenge of ridicule from those he typically saw as beneath him; physical pain he could handle, but humiliation was not something his ego bore well. The last thing Ramsay wanted was any other form of altercation that could result in further reprimand as neither his ass nor his self-esteem could take another strapping any time soon.

Neither Jon nor Ramsay seemed to be feeling overly talkative as the eggs and bread was served to them, so breakfast persisted in silence (not that Ramsay minded as he wasn't in much of a mood for sharing.) After the meal had concluded, Jon steadied his gaze on Ramsay announcing what was to be their itinerary for the day. It seemed Jon had given Ramsay's future considerable thought, "I think it best if we start off your mornings with a bit of fresh air, and although I cannot always attend you on these walks, I believe no one should spend the enormity of their day rotting in a dungeon. My father didn't believe in it and neither do I; where my father would have beheaded you for your crimes, that's not the course of action my sister wished for. I'll state for the record that I don't wish that for you now either, but I do wish for you to acclimate into a more productive role since I expect that you'll be with us for some time. You're young and able, and I would wish to see more of your time spent doing something active rather than day in and day out chained down to that mattress." Jon's face noticeably soured at the thought, and Ramsay visibly shrank in his chair at the reminder but said nothing in response other than to avert his eyes back to his empty plate as if there were something captivating within the designs of its porcelain surface. Ramsay staying locked away like a damsel in a far off tower was one of the many problems Jon had with Sansa keeping Ramsay as she did that he could still openly discuss with her; she'd shut him down rather quickly when he'd lightly addressed the rumors of her taking Ramsay against his will after the initial circumstance that everyone in the keep and many beyond had been invited to partake in. That ghastly business had turned Jon's stomach, and he'd meant to ward Sansa away from it then if it had not been for Ramsay's malice and disrespect changing his mind when he'd come to confront her, it may not have happened at all. A small part of Jon now bore the weight of that on his conscious chiding himself that he should have been a little more adamant and less affected by the words of a pained prisoner not in his right mind, but what was done was done.

Sansa had been quite passionate telling Jon what she chose to do with Ramsay was none of his business and that regardless of anyone else's perception, Ramsay was still by all rights her husband, and as such, she bore rights to copulate with him as was seen fit by their coupling under the old gods and the new. There was no specification or justification for how copulation between husband and wife was meant to take place making Sansa's stance a semi-justifiable dispute that none would have much claim to argue. As it were, if a man were to take his wife in such a way (even if one didn't agree with rape, marriage was considered marriage and duties in the bedroom were meant to be fulfilled), so Jon had grudgingly ceded to Sansa's argument. Of course in the manner of a husband not treating his wife well, it was also not unheard of that the family of the wife or loyalist supporters for the house being besmirched might take matters into their own hands (not that anyone other than Jon was coming to Ramsay's defense or house Bolton for that matter.)

It had bothered Jon as a state of honor for the Stark name before, but now as he began to get closer to Ramsay, he wondered if he might find need to reengage the topic further if the rumors continued to persist after Sansa's return because the matter bothered him on a personal level too, "I plan to speak to Sansa further about you when she returns; I know she has plans for you to perform acts of retribution, but outside of that, we all need a purpose to fulfill to guide us, and not that it's not a worthy cause, but I believe there is more out there for you than just living to right your wrongs. In the meantime, I plan to spend the next few afternoons with you in the library helping you on your list, and I will join you for at least one meal to keep you company until Sansa comes home. In the evenings, once all matters have been attended to, if you wish it, you can sit at the hearth with me for a shared drink or two to help warm and aide you in sleep."

Ramsay was watching Jon intently now surprised by the last offer and too stunned to reply as all of the man's words and what they held for him were slowly digested. Did Jon actually care for him and want to spend time with him? Ramsay understood the meetings to go over ideas for Sansa's list, but the meals and nightly drink were entirely unnecessary. Did Sansa ask Jon to do this? He found himself murmuring as if in a dream, "That sounds… nice. Thank you." Ramsay was more and more surprised by Jon's benevolence. Jon, like Sansa, encompassed both levels of kindness brokered with stern resolve when dealing with him. He no longer knew how to react as Jon took on this semi-father figure role in his life; if he'd had a loving father, the way Jon was treating him may have felt recognizable, but as it was, the feeling was emotionally awkward. It wasn't unwelcome although it fractured his thoughts leaving Ramsay in a state of wonderment at the possibilities for his future with these Starks.

Just as Jon had decreed, the two spent the next two days getting together to work on his list (where Ramsay was more pliable to take Jon's suggestions!) Jon also made himself present for at least two meals a day (even though Jon had only promised one,) and Temeric and Cecil took Ramsay out and about to wander around the castle as part of their morning routine. Just as he had done prior, Temeric ensured that Ramsay was given solitude when dressing and undressing, and Ramsay was left to wonder if it were a command from Jon the man was following or if the guard was doing it on his own volition.

Either way, it pleased Ramsay. He found himself becoming more socially open to these two men even if he wasn't quite sure what to say to them. Most times he just listened to them talk amongst themselves about their home lives whereas before Ramsay had mentally tuned them out. He didn't have much on average to add to their conversations, but every now and again, their exchanges led to topics he could interact with, and so Ramsay surprised the two guards with his amiable input. Temeric and Cecil were a friendly sort and quickly responded in kind to Ramsay and the next morning had brought a primitively carved version of Alquerques (an ancestor of checkers) to pass the day away since Ramsay wasn't overly interested in reading books from the library as Jon had suggested.

Jon didn't bring up any of the pressing subjects of court with Ramsay when he'd joined him at the blazing hearth fire. The two simply sat in silence as they drank, Ramsay his wine and Jon his ale. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence like that which he'd shared with his father most nights the two had shared a drink. Those nights were spent with either son or father brooding and only responding in sharp quips of negativity where Ramsay typically ended the encounter by storming off to bed rather than pushing his father too far. Roose allowed a certain level of ire in his son because he thought that level of snappish recoil could be a necessary tactic when the need arose to be aggressive in debate with other houses. By nettling his son, he gave Ramsay a spine Roose had always told himself (not that Roose had to worry about that as Ramsay was fearless in most regards to a detriment in some degree.) There were times the two could enjoy a drink as father and son, but it was rare and forever tainted by an expectation that there was more to it than a simple drink. Roose often didn't 'lounge' with Ramsay in that way preferring to keep times where he let his guard down to himself. A long line of distrust that seeped into the fiber of what it was to be a Bolton.

Ramsay had come to know and expect this type of seedy cynicism from all those he interacted with whether so called allies and friends or family, but Jon, Sansa, and even Temeric and Cecil were starting to change this outlook within Ramsay too. They had no reason to treat him justly or kindly for that matter, but they did anyway much to Ramsay's puzzlement. Ramsay was starting to enjoy both Jon and the guards' company in the absence of Sansa even though he still found his mind drifted to think of her quite often and how relieved he would be to see her back home with him again.

The raven arrived the second night the two had been seated at the fire. Maester Medrick stumbled upon them clutching a small rolled paper between forefinger and thumb, "Uh…" Medrick's eyes traveled over to Ramsay and his countenance shifted unreadably taking in the sight of him. The pause in his words was a momentary reaction of surprise to see Ramsay out of the dungeon before Maester Medrick refocused back on Jon with a sudden urgency, "Milord, it would seem the lady of the house has sent you a missive."

Jon was already standing at the man's arrival, and Ramsay found himself standing as well upon hearing the message was from Sansa. As Jon unrolled the tiny piece of paper the worry on his brow relaxed as he took in a long deep breath, "Thank you Maester Medrick."

Maester Medrick fiddled with his iron rings nervously, and as Jon saw he was awaiting dismissal, Jon nodded, "That will be all." Maester Medrick seemed more than relieved as he backed away quickly, "Yes milord."

As the Maester departed, Ramsay could no longer help himself from asking his impatience to know ringing clear in his voice, "What does it say?"

Jon turned back to Ramsay his features subdued, "It says she's made it to her destination. She'll be on her way back home soon."

Notes:

At long last! Sansa has made it to her destination! I hope this chapter didn't seem rushed! I wanted to flush out how Jon and Ramsay were getting along before jumping into this next scene with Sansa, but I also didn't want to drag out the next few days of time in several chapters (we all want Sansa back home not just Ramsay! LOL!) Forgive any typos, it's late, and I've been writing hours to get this out to you tonight! =D I hope you enjoy the efforts, and as always comments are very much appreciated and adored! :P


	22. Discoveries

Oh! I missed making this a New Year's post by 30 minutes! Boo! I hope everyone out there has had a fantastic holiday season (whether you celebrate or not :P) I hope the wait was worth it, and as always, if you like what you read, let me know! I'm a total comment whore! LOL!

Chapter Twenty-Two

Discoveries

The news of the trip's extension seemed only to make the days tick by much more slowly. To stave off boredom alongside an offer of kindness, Sansa took turns riding in and out of the carriage with some of the soldiers that were most weary. This allowed for Sansa not to feel as though she might go insane staring at the small space's drab décor as well as help all members of their traveling party to be better rested and prepared should an incident on the road occur. As it was, there were very few journeying the roads during this time of year, and the ones that were tended to be brief not wishing to linger any longer than need be in the winter's chill.

When Sansa did decide to brave the cold gusts of wind and flurried snow, she did so alongside Ser Davos or Brienne and Podrick (the two parties would not intermingle since Brienne still holding pangs of loyalty for Renly could not bring herself to trust a man that had been advisor to Stannis Baratheon.) Even at Sansa's behest that Davos was a good man that held the interests of the Starks close to heart, Brienne would thank Sansa for her counsel yet made no move to further the relationship. Ever vigilant, Brienne always refused to take Sansa's offer for her and Podrick to take a turn in the carriage (which Podrick never espoused that he'd still wished the offered break, but he visibly sagged at Brienne's proclamation that to keep Lady Stark safe, they would not be able to do so sequestered within the confines of Sansa's carriage.)

Brienne's sentiment, steadfastness, and courage was always appreciated, but something was niggling Sansa as the group traveled on. Although Brienne had never been overly talkative; when they had made the long trek to castle Black, the two had still spoken in sparse clips then and mostly of what their primary objectives were in reaching Sansa's brother Jon and how Sansa planned to retake their home from Bolton occupation. The mind cannot dwell on the grim for too long before a needed spark of optimism must prevail, and it was in those times that Sansa and Brienne found solace in fond memories of Catelyn Stark. Brienne had not served Catelyn long, but it had been long enough for the loyalty, that was no less a part of Brienne than air was sustenance for a gasping lung, to forge a lasting bond that the warrior woman would honor until her death. Brienne, Sansa knew, would always hold true to her vow to serve her, and she did not question Sansa's choices although since the reclaiming of Winterfell and after her return from Riverrun with Podrick, Brienne of Tarth had been particularly reserved. This was in part because she could not get Jamie Lanister out of her thoughts but more so because of the discoveries she gradually made of the woman she'd sworn an oath to attend.

Sansa had been so taken with first her revenge and then her growing fascination with Ramsay that she'd hardly spoken to Brienne since they'd resettled within the keep, but Brienne had never wandered far. In fact, unbeknownst to Sansa, Brienne had seen glimpses of what she had done to Ramsay that shook her to the core. It wasn't the violence that Brienne disagreed with as not unlike Sansa's father and at the onset Jon, she would have seen Ramsay simply cut down for his crimes.

That was not what bothered the Lady of the Sapphire Isles; what clung to Brienne now were the images that she had witnessed when her concern prodded her to check on her mistress' whereabouts. Brienne was a woman honor, but the acts that she briefly observed taking place beyond the dungeon door held anything but. Looking through the small slits carved into the dungeon door Sansa's abnormal choice of torture in having a large wooden phallic object inserted and bonded to the man in tightly fastened ropes had taken Brienne's breath away and ultimately marred her vision of the bold woman that now rode beside her.

The knight's horror only multiplied upon the announcement three days after the capture of Ramsay Bolton that he would become the night's entertainment not unlike an awful attraction at a seedy brothel house for even seedier men. Of anyone, Brienne understood the struggle of being a woman in a largely patriarchal culture, and she held an understanding for why Sansa had a reason to loathe Ramsay Bolton and wish him great harm for the atrocities he had reigned down upon her. It wasn't Brienne's place to tell the lady of the house in what ways to treat her enemies, and as long as she herself was never asked to partake or bear witness to what Brienne considered debauchery unfit of House Stark, she would not object.

No, Brienne would not protest Sansa's rights to do whatsoever she deemed fit to a man like Ramsay Bolton as she was not naïve to the wicked accounts that many spoke of on his behalf, and even if having never been told of his deeds, the bedraggled remains of the Iron borne prince was a testament of epic proportions to what that man had been capable of. Had it been anyone halfway decent Brienne may have sought to speak in his defense; as it was, she couldn't bring herself to speak on the matter at all (even when Podrick had queried inquisitively why she had been so dour upon her return to camp shortly after the discovery of what Sansa had taken to doing with Winterfell's war criminal. Lady Tarth had only given Podrick a warning glare leaving nothing more that dared to be asked about the matter from that point on. Having been Brienne's squire for long enough, Podrick knew better than to pry although it didn't take long for word to filter through the entirety of the keep what Sansa had been up to.) But, Brienne had given her word as a knight to serve and protect Sansa, and it would not be broken although it was being considerably tested leaving Brienne feeling off kilter to the personal standards she held herself to.

Sansa watched the way that Brienne now tended to break eye contact when they spoke choosing instead to look far off into the distance rather than at her, and as the last days of their journey to the mill progressed where Sansa had chosen to spend more time outside of the carriage rather than in it, the stilted responses and dragged out silences took their toll to the point Sansa was bolstered enough to address Brienne about it, "Lady Brienne, I can't help but to notice something is bothering you. I ask of you now to please speak freely."

Sansa requesting this of her made Brienne's throat feel like it was constricting; she wasn't one to be afraid of voicing her opinion, but the thought of offending Sansa worried her greatly. It had taken a great deal to win the young Stark's confidence in her, and although Brienne didn't think that Sansa would dismiss her under grounds that she felt her actions were questionable, it could create a strain on their relationship. Brienne grimaced taking in a deep inhale before turning to finally face Sansa's query, "If I may Lady Sansa… I… I…" the words died in her throat for lack of a tactful way to approach the subject; Brienne grimaced further.

Cool blue eyes continued to regard the knight until Brienne felt what she wanted to say formulate solidly in her mind. Brienne's eyes fixed Sansa with the utmost conviction now as she spoke in an even keel absent of the previous doubt she'd exhibited, "Forgive me, Lady Stark. It's nothing to trouble yourself with. I've just been at odds with some of the upheaval caused in the wake of grisly warfare. I assure you, it will pass."

But would it? The fact that they were making this trek at all confounded Brienne as it had many that had learned the reasoning behind it was to seek out some further knowledge on Ramsay's history. Sansa had informed Ser Davos that she wished for him to be candid with the men about the reasoning for their journey because she felt honesty was better than rampant rumors (and it was easier to let Davos spread the word rather than herself since these men trusted Davos… all except Brienne who had not heard this unveiling from the old smuggler but instead from her squire, Podrick, whom as her protégé was quick to pass on any information to Brienne he thought as a point of interest. Brienne had silently wondered if the reasoning behind gathering information about Ramsay was only to further torture the prior keep's holder for further exacted revenge since the harsher side of the two's relationship was all that Brienne and most everyone else was currently aware of, but such a notion vanished almost as soon as it had been imagined. The fact that it had been imagined at all though made that uncomfortable sensation of doubt in her honor as a person that she'd felt before reemerge and settle in her gut.

Sansa did not prod further as she studied her companion for long minutes thinking on how Brienne's words conflicted with the emotion written on her face. They rode on for some time in silence before Sansa spoke again in an orotund fashion denoting her natural station as a noble, "You are wrong."

Taken aback by the unexpected response after having thought conversation had tapered to an end, Brienne swiveled a muddled expression onto Sansa, "I beg pardon, my lady?"

"I said you are wrong. It most certainly is worth troubling me as whatever seeps into your soul burdens you; of this I can tell. For us to keep secrets erodes trust, so please espouse to me your concerns." Sansa's features reflected the gravity of the way she felt as much as that of her tone.

Brienne nodded stiffening as she straightened on her horse. Her chest heaved a great sigh; if her lady wished to know the full truth then she would give it to her. Her words felt gravelly as she spoke them, "As you wish my lady, I shall not mince words. Please do not take me saying as much to mean any disrespect, but you are not your mother Lady Sansa, and where my fealty to protect you will never waver, my heart questions your current path."

Sansa blinked slowly registering the impact of Brienne's opinion. The warrior woman was one of the few that she did now trust implicitly, and for her to question her path made her question herself. She swallowed, "Ramsay… he's a complicated addition to my life that I hadn't quite foreseen stretching in to what it has." Brienne was regarding her now with a frown, and Sansa found herself frowning back, "You disagree I'm sure as many others will and do."

Brienne replied gruffly, "I do, my Lady. I don't believe in prolonged suffering. In the end it will only make your own anger persist to twist you into becoming that which you now torment."

Realization dawned across Sansa's face as understanding of what exactly it was that Brienne had assumed of her, just as many others would Sansa was sure. But to have Brienne under the impression that the original wrath that she'd bestowed upon Ramsay was still persisting even now was not the image she wished the knight to see her in (even if it was a misconception that may work in her favor for those that would wish the worst on Ramsay.) Sansa's eyes flitted about to ensure privacy before she responded in a low voice, "What you have heard is not the entirety of the situation I assure you."

Brienne countered bitterly, "But what I have seen has given me more than words ever could. What I would give if I could un-see what I have already witnessed."

Sansa's face blossomed in a flush of shame unaware of what Brienne must have seen to have upset her so thoroughly. It rose an awareness in her of how far she'd let herself fall originally when her sorrow and hatred had driven her to pull Ramsay into the bowels of despair and anguish for her sole appeasement of beholding his misery. It was a much darker place than she currently resided, "I am sorry for whatever you saw; I'm sure it was not pleasant to take in. I was not in the mindset then that I am in now, and I cannot and will not excuse my previous actions. What I did then, I needed to do, but he has changed, and in the rouse of his change, so have I. I'm not looking to hurt him any longer but to make him a better person. The point of finding this destination is because I seek understanding to help me help him."

Sansa's declaration released the burden of wavering faith Brienne had been feeling that perhaps her mistress was getting corrupted by the revenge she was exacting, and she exhaled her relief, "My Lady, you own me no justification… but I do value your consideration on my behalf. The articles that you address have weighed heavily on my mind, and to know your intent reassures me that as I should have well known from the start that I had no reason to fear. I am most sorry; I will not doubt you again."

Brienne's restored belief in her brought about a thankful smile, "You need not apologize, but I do ask in the future that if ever you have cause to doubt that you are free to come to me and address the matter before it festers as this one did."

Bowing in deference Brienne responded, "Of course my lady. I…" Brienne stopped short as the thundering sound of hooves rang out over the hillside. The two scouts that had ridden ahead were returning bringing Brienne's more cautious side to become alert and aware of whatever news they would soon share.

The horsemen did not dally riding directly to where they saw their mistress as one of them spoke, "My lady; we have found it. We have notified the widow of the mill of your soon to be arrival."

"You did?" Sansa's retort was laced in mystified disbelief; she half expected that they would find the mill abandoned or the widow long since dead. It had been almost fifteen years from Maester Medrick's account, and a peasant's life was hard after all especially when there was no kin to help you in the day to day trials of surviving in the times they did. Sansa nodded to the man, "Good. Let's not keep her waiting then."

The men returned her nod spinning back around to amble over to the guides leading the party and informed them the direction they would need to take to reach the mill. The group picked up the pace of travel now brimming with excitement at the prospect of finally reaching their intended destination none as much as Sansa although for different reasoning. For the men making the journey it signified the halfway point of their voyage where the remainder meant their return home, and for Sansa, she felt a wash of anticipation for the truths she hoped to unearth by meeting this woman.

As they crested the hill to see the ramshackle cottage and dilapidated mill, Sansa recoiled inwardly that anyone would have to live in such a hovel. She'd seen plenty of similar properties before, but knowing this was once Ramsay's home brought about a sense of further pity to its occupant now. There were people milling about the estate as their assembly approached looking on in awe and slight fear. Sansa had to remind herself that this was a prior Bolton dominion, and the people here had come to expect to be ruled by terror rather than allegiance. These thoughts brokered a barely contained scowl to form on Sansa's face as they passed the onlookers and made their way to the front of the main cottage where an aging woman past her prime stood solidly awaiting their arrival.

Past the weatherworn wrinkles that marred her face, her beauty still reflected keenly in her visage. Unlike those that surrounded her cottage, this woman stood bold and without concern of their expedited approach. Her eyes affixed to them as that of a hawk staring down its prey, Ramsay carried her distinguished brow and thick lips as well as the wavy fullness in his hair that this woman possessed, although the color in her hair was faded of his vibrancy most likely due to age and a lifetime of poor diet. She stepped forward firmly her mouth remaining a tight line as she waited for Sansa to step down from her horse and make her way over to where she silently waited.

Brienne hopped down from her horse coming to Sansa's side to help lift her down from her own horse and walking a few feet behind her mistress as Sansa approached the widow. The soldiers on foot that accompanied them took up steps in similar fashion behind the two women keeping a much further distance than Brienne where the other half on horseback remained at a distance to stare on at full attention in case they were needed although none expected trouble out of peasants residing in a far off mill in the middle of nowhere.

Sansa's face was expressionless now doing her best to retain the noble countenance she'd been taught to show in front of those that she was unsure of their demeanor and trustworthiness. This woman similarly regarded her with equal measure rigidly awaiting to hear what Sansa would say. Sansa straightened giving a slight bow of respect, "Forgive our intrusion, I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, and I have traveled a far ways to seek your counsel. Would you be amiable to a sit down with me?"

"Counsel!?" the woman's voice practically sputtered in surprise her eyes growing wide as if she'd just been told she'd grown a third eye, "From Winterfell you say? What brings a noble of house Stark this far East to speak to a lowly miller, my lady?"

"Your son, Ramsay. I wish to speak to you about him," Sansa stated uniformly not wishing to divulge any feelings one way or another for the man in his mother's presence. She didn't wish to evoke any response in the widow that mirrored her own. If the woman was given a predilection to assume her own feelings about Ramsay (whether positive or negative), the woman may react in kind to remain agreeable. In this way, Sansa felt that she had a far better chance of gaining a true account from the woman if she remained completely neutral.

There was a long pause whether due from shock of the query on her son or wariness to proceed Sansa was not sure, but the woman's gait shifted as she brought herself to stand even straighter her mouth pursing tightly over gaunt cheek bones as her dark brown eyes flitted cautiously from Sansa to Brienne. Her face seemed to harden further as she replied briskly, "Whatever the bastard has done, do not bring it to my doorstop. I unburdened myself of that child over a decade ago. If you wish to seek counsel on him, go to lord Bolton in his lofty Dreadfort; that is where the boy absconded to."

Sansa snapped back dryly, "Lord Bolton is dead. His lands are now mine. I would not trust the word of Roose Bolton now even if he were still breathing. The man was a viper in heart and nature."

There was no denying this woman was kin to Ramsay Sansa noted as the woman's eyes narrowed and a spark of anger Sansa had seen reflected in Ramsay's eyes flared and her mouth contorted in the same seething fashion as his when she spat, "Through blood, sweat, and many tears, this homestead is mine! I've not received pittance since the bastard left… not that what lord Bolton gave in remittance amounted to the trouble the boy caused me. Are you looking for him now as a last heir to rid the world of any that might rise against you for overthrowing house Bolton, or are you coming here to lay claim over my lands in retaliation for having been forced to sire the demon's spawn?"

Sansa blinked surprised at the level of hate levied towards her at the mere mention of Roose Bolton. Even more so that Ramsay had apparently been a product of rape although the latter really shouldn't have surprised her given what she herself had been victim to marrying in to the Bolton house. Like father, like son… the widow's announcement had managed to ruffle Sansa's mien though causing her jaw to drop slightly as she shook her head no, "I've not come to take your home from you nor am I looking to find Ramsay to eliminate any possible lingering Bolton threat. I'm only interested in information that I can get solely from you. If you would entertain me I will pay you the gold price of twenty gold dragons for your time."

The woman visibly staggered from the offer, "Twenty? I… yes my lady, please," she backed away throwing her hand toward the door to invite Sansa inside, "I will tell you whatever you wish."

Sansa nodded and glanced to Davos who returned her nod making his way over to them, digging out the coin, and leaning over to place the coins in the woman's hands who greedily observed his motions with avarice shining in her eyes. As the money was presented to her, she swiped them quickly into the folds of her apron giving Sansa a smile and a curtsey.

Having made the exchange, Sansa glanced to Davos whose face reflected disdain to give this woman anything under such pretenses, but he said nothing, and for that Sansa was grateful. From the little bit that she'd been witness to, Sansa already did not care much for this woman's attitude. To be Ramsay's mother, it seemed she held nothing but contempt for him. Not once had she called him her son or by his trueborn name, Ramsay, only 'the bastard' and 'the boy.' It was distant and removed in a way that Sansa had not imagined a mother could be, but in her given titles for Ramsay, she started to get a true glimpse of their relationship.

Brienne had been allowed to follow her in, but Sansa had held out a hand after the warrior woman had passed to stave off any others to remain on the woman's porch. It wouldn't due to have the woman spooked by an over abundant show of force. The widow led Sansa into the small alcove made of three rooms, the main living area, and an open door on either side leading into a bedroom. The main room was tidy and inviting enough with a large fireplace that lit the room with a warm glow. The room held sparse decorations of obviously handmade knickknacks of rudimentary skill, a small table large enough to seat four, and a rocking chair set by the fireplace with a basket lying beside it containing a mix of what Sansa recognized immediately as sewing and knitting supplies.

By the entrance an 'L' shaped countertop was built into the foundation with what looked like tools for grinding and baking. This was a mill, and from the looks of the well-worn floor in that particular corner of the small confines of this house it was likely where the widow spent most of her waking hours. Sansa's eyes had drifted to the corner taking it in, but she did her best not to let her eyes linger anywhere in particular only taking in the entirety of the dwelling in a sweeping pass before settling at the table where the older woman had pulled out a chair for her to sit. Sansa watched this woman curiously as the woman moved around the table clasping her hands in front of her nervously, "I can offer you some hot tea and day old sweet bread if it pleases you, my lady?"

Sansa forced a smile as she nodded, "Thank you; that sounds wonderful." The woman swiveled around to grab a hanging cup from the ceiling moving swiftly over to the fireplace where she carefully poured a steaming cup of the kettle's contents into the mug and brought it back to set it in front of Sansa before moving over to a breadbox where she removed a half loaf onto a cutting board and quickly cut and served a slice of the bread on a small wooden plate to Sansa before looking to Brienne and back to Sansa, "I can serve your knight as well, my lady," the widow offered, but before Sansa could respond Brienne held up a hand, "That will not be necessary." The woman nodded simply before moving around the table then to sit across from Sansa to await the said inquiries the gold dragons had paid for.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Sansa remarked taking a small bite of bread and a sip of the tea out of respect. She'd thought over so many questions to ask this woman prior to arriving at this very moment that her mind was now suddenly devoid of what exactly she truly wished to ask. The woman was staring at her expectantly now, and Sansa's mind was a blank. She flushed suddenly feeling very foolish as she looked down into the steaming cup of tea and back at the woman before her, "Forgive me a pause; it's been quite the journey to find you that I'm a bit stunned that it has come to fruition at all."

The woman genuinely smiled at her admission, "I hope that I can give you that which you are seeking then. I should apologize. I did not mean to seem so harsh upon your arrival; it's hard to run a mill in the middle of nowhere… with no man to fend off marauders… or …others that might seek to destroy what I've built here."

Sansa nodded in understanding, "I imagine that it is a challenge. I thank you for taking the time to indulge me about your son, Ramsay. From your earlier remarks, I take it that your and lord Bolton's was not a secret love affair but copulation made without consent, and for the pain that my bringing his name to your table brings I am sorry. What I do wish to know is what you can tell me about Ramsay; anything of significance would be most valued."

The mention of Roose made a noticeable twitch to course through the woman as she stared down at the cracks in the surface of her table responding in a monotone as if removed from the memory as she spoke it, "Lord Bolton… he took my Henrick from me, and left me with a lifetime of regret. The lord takes what the lord wants, and who are we to say otherwise?" She let loose a humorless laugh, "He killed my husband and implanted within me a seed that I could not escape his treasonous acts upon my soul. I raised the boy still mostly because my husband's brother did his best to take what little I had left of my Henrick in this mill." Her head teetered and her brow lifted as she drew silent reliving those memories from a lifetime ago. Her gaze lifted to Sansa now as she continued, "Roose Bolton… he retaliated against my brother-in-law after deciding that the newborn I brought before him did indeed resemble him. There really was no denying it even if that high born bitch at his side refused to acknowledge the truth!" She scoffed her lip curling into a snarl, "I was promised a small trifle to take the boy away along with my land, and my brother-in-law? Well, he lived, but I never saw him grace my plantation again." She shivered, "The boy though… Ramsay …every time I looked into those icy blue eyes, I saw a Bolton staring back at me." The woman grew silent then retreating inwardly and seemingly unable to continue the conversation further before bringing her gaze up to Sansa as she asked in puzzlement, "What is it exactly you wish to know, my lady?"

Sansa had been transfixed on the woman's face, body movements, and words as she spoke, and when addressed, Sansa was brought back to the conversation as a participant rather than just an observer. Listening to the woman's reflections brought about a sinking sorrow within Sansa to hear her speak of Ramsay as if he were no more than a further manifestation of her torment. It was becoming clear that this woman had been incapable of being a mother to him, and Sansa now sympathized with the boy that Ramsay had been. She straightened at the question his mother asked thinking on what exactly she wished to reveal to this woman of her relationship with Ramsay in order to address getting what she really wanted to know.

Sansa wanted to gather the most efficient information that could be useful in understanding the way Ramsay thought and how to reach him as well as to recognize what to avoid. She'd already made the connection before this venture that Ramsay had triggers concerning her, and the last thing Sansa wanted was to encounter one where he may in turn react irrationally with her. As it was, she'd seen a flicker of something dangerous in Ramsay from their first conversation had about his mother, and it had been enough to spark an avid curiosity to know more about why merely talking about this woman had caused such a reaction in him. But that aside, what was it that she really wanted to know? Everything. Impossible. Sansa's eyes traveled back up to take in the woman staring at her across the table; her lips parted to speak but the words she wished to say seemed to be lodged in her throat. After a moment's hesitation, Sansa finally stated, "I want you to tell me what you remember of him, what was Ramsay like as a child, what were his habits; what did he like and dislike?"

The widow blinked losing eye contact to stare off in thought. It was apparent these were not the questions she had expected, and they had caught her off-guard. She stood grabbing a cup from the above rack and made her way over to pour some tea for herself before returning to the table and reiterating the question out loud, "What was he like? He… he was clingy… always underfoot and curious about everything. He got IN to everything!" She shook her head frowning as she sighed in exasperation, "All the boy ever did was whine and cry… always pulling on my skirts wanting something! I had to set him in his room while I worked to keep him from getting in the way."

Her eyes lifted to take Sansa's expression in, and seeing a note of disdain reflected in Sansa's feature's even though she did not comment, Ramsay's mother pleaded justification, "If I'd still had a husband, I may have been able to keep up with his antics, but as it was, I was stranded alone and left to tend to all matters of the mill myself so as to keep a roof over our heads. I didn't have time to keep track of everything he'd get up to, but you asked what he did like? He liked to be outside. He preferred that to his room when I had work to do, and as long as he wasn't causing trouble, I let him roam free." She took a long sip of her tea before continuing in a sense of weariness, "He wasn't like other children, and the other children could tell there was something off about him, so most times, they refused to play with him. It was just as well. I didn't need to have other parents coming to my door complaining about him getting their children into his …habits."

The woman grimaced at Sansa, "You wanted to know what he liked to do? He collected bones, and dead things! I can't begin to tell you my horror at finding a rabbit carcass under his pillow after searching two days for the putrid scent!"

Sansa found herself gasping in slight disgust the thought brought about as she asked her voice sounding weak in her own ears, "Why? Did… did he ever give reason?"

Seeming mollified that Sansa finally reacted as she had, the widow huffed, "Said he liked the feel of it. He'd make disturbing toys out of many things he found out in the wilds." She sighed, "But such is the way of little boys. He became a lot easier to handle once I managed to convince lord Bolton to send aide to help raise the boy. The bastard needed a male to guide him where I couldn't, and after everything that man took from me, he owed me that much!"

Sansa swallowed hard remembering Maester Medrick's tale of the joke of a man Roose had sent with the widow. She cleared her throat, "I had heard that you were aided further by a manservant of lord Bolton's stead. Can you tell me more about this fellow, Reek?"

"Heke," the woman corrected, "His name was Heke, but everyone called him Reek because he smelled of decaying flesh and sweat, a truly awful stench that he tried to cover up by wearing posies on his brow like a ridiculous crown! It didn't help, but the man was useful enough and one grew used to his stink after a time." She paused her face growing pale as she sputtered, "He chopped wood well enough and kept the boy entertained. He didn't ask for coin, so who was I to complain?"

Sansa frowned, "I see. So… Ramsay and this …Heke… they got along well enough?"

The woman shrugged, "I suppose. Heke took him hunting, taught him things… how to survive I imagine. Whatever it is a man teaches a boy. It kept the boy from getting in the way of work needing to be done, and Heke helped put meat on the table. We rarely had that before he came around," the woman's eyes shifted away, and Sansa could see a rising shame fill the woman's face. There was more there that she was justifying and not saying, and to recognize it made Sansa's gut twist.

"Do you… do you have any of his personal effects left?" Sansa was reaching now, but the longer she sat here with this woman the more uncomfortable she was becoming. What she was taking away from this meeting wasn't wholly what she'd expected, she was wishing that she'd not come here at all. She wasn't really sure what she had anticipated this meeting to have been like, but Sansa hadn't foreseen it being like this. For all of what Ramsay had done to her, to many others, she'd never pictured him a victim of anyone else prior to her especially not of this woman, but that was yet another foolish assessment she realized dumbly. This woman was so lost in her own needs and prior trauma that Sansa could tell she never once equated Ramsay's needs above her own. This realization saddened her and gave a whole new understanding as to why Ramsay had reacted the way he had to the smallest of acknowledgements and comfort she had bestowed upon him. It was obvious from this woman's responses that she'd blamed Ramsay for the atrocities Roose had brought down upon her as if he'd done so himself.

The widow blinked giving Sansa a dumbfounded expression, "Personal effects? My lady, he's been gone years. What would I have kept? There is the mattress in the other room where he slept; I kept it for the use of a guest, but for the coin you've given me, you can have it. It's back here," she rose motioning to Sansa who also rose to follow her not because she wanted this peasant's unwanted mattress but because Sansa had decided she had heard more than she ever cared to from this woman.

Even so, Sansa found herself turning towards the bedroom that her back had been facing curious to see where Ramsay had spent his nights. Upon examining the bedroom further, what Sansa saw only made her dislike this woman more. Within the years that had followed Ramsay's departure, it looked as if the widow had used the majority of the room as storage for various odd items, but the bed she spoke of was visible under some of the piles of miscellaneous objects stored upon it. It wasn't the disgusting decrepit mattress that had brought out this feeling of ire but the deep grooves cut into the walls and along the doorframe of the chamber. It was obvious that the woman's workday where Ramsay had been 'kept out of the way' were long hours of tedious boredom for the child to a point that he'd clawed at the door and walls as a means to try and escape this closet sized cave that held no window and a bare mattress on the floor.

Before the widow could finish removing the items littering the bed, Sansa blurted, "That won't be necessary. I've no need for it. I've heard what I needed to know, and I'll leave you in peace now, thank you," Sansa backed out of the room quickly turning and bounding out the door before the widow had a chance to reply. Brienne stepped aside to let Sansa quickly pass by and gave the still crouching surprised woman a nod before spinning around to follow her mistress out.

Sansa did not stop walking at a breakneck pace until she'd made it back to her horse. Brienne had to practically run to catch back up to her, and when she had, Sansa turned a dour expression towards the cottage before turning her attention back to Brienne as the warrior woman helped her mount her horse. "Let's leave this domicile before I wish to see it burned to the ground," Sansa's voice was taut with emotion; she was more than ready to retreat back to Winterfell away from this awful place that spoke of nothing but neglect and likely further abuse than she cared to think a child enduring.

Brienne having heard everything Sansa had simply nodded with understanding, "As you wish, my lady." There were no further words spoken between the two as they rode back up the hill to rejoin the awaiting horsemen, and once they'd returned to the road, Sansa no longer in the mood for company withdrew to the confines of her carriage grateful to be heading back home. She had been afraid of what speaking to the widow would uncover, but not for what she actually had been informed of. In some ways, she felt there was so much more that she could have learned from this woman, but from what she did learn, she decided that she'd rather Ramsay tell her himself when he was ready.


	23. Tainted Deals

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tainted Deals

"What exactly are you getting at, Lord Baelish?" Lamor Umber's brow arched in suspicion as he leaned back in his chair warily taking in the whole of the two men sitting across from him. Three of Smalljon Umber's siblings, two brothers and a sister (that upon a casual glance due to her size and stoutness could easily be mistaken for a man) sat grimly across from Petyr Baelish and Harald Karstark.

They had traveled south upon a harried courier's bedraggled arrival revealed the results that the war had taken more than half of their army and their brother's life. The offense to their house was enough to regroup the men that had escaped death from overwhelming Stark forces along with ready reinforcements willing to make a stand for their fallen lord. The Umbers had prepared a small army intent on confronting the Starks before further claims could be made that their lands could be considered forfeit for siding with the Boltons against the Starks and their Wildling army.

The Umbers had made it to Long Lake when their procession was halted by expectant Vale delegates awaiting them on the King's Road to stop their determined march to Winterfell (apparently they had already known about their informing herald relaying the news of the battle as well as the fact that they had gathered cavalries that now rode down to face the Starks personally.) There was some debate on whether it would be better not to just kill these men and continue their trek to deal with the Starks as anticipated, but a mutual decision between the three nobles was decided (much to the envoys' relief) to instead take the detour alongside the White Knife River and answer the summons the emissaries had presented to them.

It was an understood risk coming to Moat Calin with the knowledge that it now housed a fair number of the Vale's cavalry army in its well-fortified walls, but so was it a risk to charge to Winterfell where many of the noble houses that had retaken the keep still lingered with their own personal forces alongside an encampment of unpredictable savage Wildlings. Harald Karstark had sent the Umber house a personal missive coated with a wax seal of a sun. It had come from his ring (or someone had taken it… or the hand or finger it rested upon to use the ring's signet to lure them here.) Either way, after their eldest brother's defeat at the hands of House Stark, and the reclaiming of Winterfell from House Bolton, the remaining Umbers knew that a parlay was inevitable if they didn't wish to go to war at a later date. This new avenue was a mystery that created further opportunities than a humble arrangement given by the Starks to prevent retaliation against them from the houses that now filed quickly back into the Stark's ranks. It was certain that the Umbers would suffer undo judgement for their brother's untimely and seemingly unwise act of treason, but that was better than being seen as a traitor and cut off from the provinces economic circle.

Petyr Baelish controlled the Vale, until the young Lord Robin of Arryn decided to relinquish said control (to which the Umbers nor Karstark were at all aware.) As it was, Baelish's motives were yet unclear why he'd summoned them all together. The side of Baelish's mouth lifted in a sly grin, "Lord Lamor, I am offering to help you, so that you do not need to prostrate yourselves on bended knee to plea forgiveness from a Stark for the choices your brother made. The Umbers are a proud people, and we both know that you and the Karstarks once controlled a formidable army, but as it is now, you are sorely outmatched by Wildling and Vale alike. What I can give you is an opportunity to make a bargain."

The younger of the two brothers stood as he rebutted snidely, "If our house is so easily swarmed than why risk losing allegiances siding with us now?"

Petyr regarded the man coolly remaining calmly detached as he addressed the question, "I'm not siding with you; I'm giving you the ability to set terms on your own standards over having the Starks dictate them to you. I will be a silent partner granting you access to a hostage that you can barter for a better outcome. I find having something or in this case someone to bring to the table gives way to negotiations in your favor."

The burly woman scowled indignantly, "How do we know this isn't some sort of trick to let our guard down? What's in it for you to help us anyway?"

Petyr's head tilted to the side as he brought both hands up to clasp uniformly in front of him in a relaxed state that gave off the impression that the conversation was a simple matter rather than a crucial ploy to undermine the newly reformed house that held the North, "If I wanted to trick you, you already are in the folds of this fortress surrounded by my army; I could have ended you without pomp or further inquiry to my person when you entered its gates, but that is not my intention. As for what's in it for me? We all need allies, Lady Matina, and where I'm not an enemy of the Starks, I have my concerns as to where their loyalties may fall in given circumstances I do not control. Friends do each other favors, and to do this for you I would hope that you would keep me in mind if I ever have need for you to return the favor. It's not wise to place all one's eggs into one basket."

Lord Lamor scoffed his irritation as he loomed forward confidently in a show that if he wished it, he could still become a formidable and deadly opponent within the confines of the relatively short distance between them. His voice was gruff as his eyes bore into the man in front of him, "So then let me get this straight, you're saying that you wish to set this whole event up just to line up some sort of future arrangement you don't even know that you'll have cause to use in the name of forming an alliance that depending on what you ask, we may or may not honor your request?"

Baelish nodded his smile never wavering, "Pacts are made in trust, and I have it on good authority that the Umbers may be a brutal house when crossed, they are also a house of their word. I would not ask any service of you that would go against the grain of what would benefit the both of us… much as I do now."

Lord Lamor studied Petyr's face a long moment before casually leaning back in his chair, "Even if we did bite, what's to say this hostage is going to be worth her weight when we go to offer a deal?"

"Him," Karstark cleared his throat as he corrected almost inaudibly, and all Umber eyes shifted over to him as his own gaze reverted back to Petyr nervously wishing for him to take the floor back.

Petyr shot back a knowing devious smile; this was one of the parts he was enjoying most about this transaction, "Yes, him. Ramsay Bolton to be exact."

The table was instantly hostile at the mention of Ramsay's name. Lord Lumor's voice rang above the rest of the disgusted outbursts as he slammed an agitated fist down on the table, "The Bolton bastard? What kind of value could that little shit hold to the Starks? I'm surprised they've not separated his head from his neck yet."

Petyr's brow lifted at the raucous gnashing of teeth created by his reveal as he enunciated, "You could simply kill him as retribution to avenge your brother's death. It is the Bolton boy's poor choices that lost your war that caused your brother's death and landed your house in this disarray. I would present him to you as a token of good will to do with as you like." He leveled his gaze, "But… if that isn't a satisfactory end, you can take him as a peace offering. Lady Stark has taken quite a shine to keeping the whelp as a pet. I've seen it with my own eyes; she's grown highly attached to him. If you take her doll, you can negotiate to have him returned unharmed… or… at least un-maimed to your advantage."

Lord Lamor was frowning deeply, "And what if we did decide to take your request to use Bolton's spawn as a proposition to keep peace and enforce that trade in the region is not interrupted. Once he's been returned to them, what's to keep the Starks from throwing out the deal?"

Petyr's smirk grew and a flicker of Machiavellian intent was clearly reflected in his expression as he continued, "If anything can be said about a Stark, it's that they keep their word to a fault. They will agree to your terms, and I assure you'll have no fear of reprisal on their end."

The younger brother's lips curled as his eyes shifted to take in Harald, "What about him? You haven't even got Ramsay Bolton in your possession, but you do have his second in command sitting at your table! Maybe we can just offer his treasonous head to mollify the Starks. It's not like he's contributing to this plan of yours. Maybe this Stark wench will want another plaything. He's on the small side like the Bolton runt…" he gave his sister a ruthless smile, "What do you think, Matina?"

Lady Matina let go of a humorless laugh her eyes taking in Harald's ever growing paler face, "Maybe if he was remotely attractive." Her gaze moved to Petyr, "Still, presenting his head might be worth less risk than the deed you'd have us entertain, Lord Baelish. He's already here in front of us as my brother Jareth has keenly observed."

Harald was looking rather mortified, stunned silent with his jaw slack and wide eyes looking worriedly over at Petyr who only answered in a bored fashion, "Lord Karstark was found by my men a day after the battle buried under a tomb of slain dead; I brought him here to recover under my protection. It would not be fitting to betray his trust and his house in that way. Besides, his lands border yours; surely that would not be wise on your part to alienate yourselves from further would-be allies would it? There are many men still willing to fight under his banners where any remaining Bolton fealty has been decimated at the loss of Lord Roose Bolton and the poor end to the war his son enticed. Ramsay Bolton is no more than a bastard of little consequence, but he means something to Lady Stark, and in that way, he can be a useful bargaining chip."

The Umbers shared a look with one another, and after a moment of silence, Lord Lamor stood announcing brusquely, "We will go to speak with the Starks as we originally planned to do. If we are unsatisfied with what comes of it, I will send word, and you can bring us this bargaining chip."

Harald let out an audible gasp of relief as Petyr stood leaning in to shake the eldest Umber's outstretched hand, "I have a feeling that I shall hear from you soon then, Lord Lamor."

...-

The next two days Sansa remained mostly within the confines of the carriage only stepping out on occasion to stretch her legs choosing to walk behind the convoy to make it apparent that she wished to be left alone. She did not speak to anyone until nearing the end of the second day where Brienne, growing concerned by her distant behavior, dismounted her horse to hand the reigns to Podrick intent on approaching Sansa to check on her personally. Brienne let the other members in their group trudge on until she fell in line beside her mistress, "My lady?" Brienne prodded gently, and when Sansa turned her eyes up to meet her gaze, Brienne saw clearly the bags under her eyes from the weariness Sansa carried. The knight grimaced but continued gently, "Are you alright, lady Sansa?"

Sansa stared forward her face trying to hide the emotion she was feeling, but Brienne easily saw through it to see that she was still troubled over the events that had transpired at the mill. After a moment of awkward silence where Brienne had started to think she would receive no response from Sansa did Sansa finally speak, "I don't know how to answer that question, lady Brienne; I am truly at a loss as to how I can be alright knowing what I do now." Her eyes grew glassy and her voice brittle, "You were right to feel as you do about what I've done, and now I've come to terms that I was not just partially wrong but fully so. Like that woman, I've used my own hurt to turn it on Ramsay, but I'm baser because I did it for the personal satisfaction of tearing him apart. What's worse is that in some ways I still want to do certain things to him even now after all that I've learned."

Brienne straightened as she offered, "If I may be so bold, my lady?" Sansa turned to finally look at her as she nodded her ascent for Brienne to continue. Brienne acknowledged Sansa's consent with a nod of her own, "You are nothing like that woman, and I mean that in the best of ways, my lady. It is true, what I saw and heard of you doing in those first days to Ramsay Bolton I would hope to never see come about again. With that in mind, Ramsay Bolton hurt you in a way that demanded some form of answer. The road you took many would see as a justified one because he had made you his victim, and you made him yours. Do not mistake that as being akin to his mother as you had reasoning behind your vengeance, she had a flawed heart. You came here with the intent of finding a way to help him, and as unpleasant as this journey was for you, I think it gave you what you sought."

Sansa let her words soak in before replying, "Help him… yes. Help him and myself to discover how best to understand him because I want more from him now than I originally did. I discovered a part of myself in that dungeon along the way that sexually excited me like I've never felt before… I want to do some of those things to him still… not in a way to hurt him with, but because it left me feeling emotionally intoxicated. With all that I have done to him already, I know that he'll not refuse me any desire I ask of him because he doesn't want to face my disapproval. Is it awful that that in itself excites me?"

"I cannot remark on what you wish to do to him… I'm… I'm unclear of such relations with a man, my lady." Brienne grew fully red in the face at this admission to speak so freely about craving to experience things of the nature Sansa hinted at with the opposite sex (although even as she'd never been with a man, Brienne did understand the want more than she cared to.)

For the first time in days, Sansa perked to see this innocence in her friend. It was something that she'd long since forgotten in the past year having been bounced from one terrifying potential sexual situation to another (even if she'd managed to keep her virginity intact up until Ramsay had become her husband.) The thought of losing her virginity to Ramsay followed by taking his virginity in her own way sent an electric thrill through her, and now it was Sansa's turn to blush as the two walked on in silence, but the silence was no longer dour but the comfortable sort that left one to their personal reflections while sharing space with another.

...-

The news that Jon relayed from Maester Medrick settled in Ramsay's gut with both a sense of elation to know that in five days' time or so Sansa would return to him and a dread that she would find out what had transpired only days before. Having heard the news, Jon seemed preoccupied in thought and had bid Ramsay a goodnight shortly after. Jon had terminated their evening drink not long after they had begun it having lost a taste for relaxing apparently, but he did give Ramsay permission to finish his drink before being brought back to the dungeon. Ramsay wasn't overly fond of returning to his bed just yet, but he was only a few sips away from finishing his drink, and for once, he didn't wish to inconvenience his guards that had been rather nice to him the majority of the day for the sheer benefit of keeping him entertained with their board game, pleasant conversations, and genuine friendly demeanor.

To be honest, Ramsay was ready to have a little alone time after the sudden news had interrupted the evening's quiet with rampant thoughts that now refused to be silent in his head. The outward silence gave way to restless brooding as he was locked down to his mattress by Cecil and Temeric to be left isolated for the night.

Sansa wasn't going to be happy to hear what he'd been up to Ramsay well knew, and only now did it colonize in his mind how much trouble he was likely going to be in if Jon went into any measure of detail with her on what he'd done. Unlike the miserable excuses for guards that had been appointed to him prior to Sansa's departure, this incident… both of them that had caused Jon to strap him… they were brought upon him solely by his own foolish actions. It only made it worse in the fact that it partially related back to what he'd been punished for by Sansa herself for letting his emotions override his judgement. It certainly wasn't going to help his case any when the person he'd attacked also happened to be her brother, Jon.

Would Jon tell her? The two had been getting on well the past couple days, and it wasn't like Jon to purposefully cause him grief. The man had went out of his way to make Ramsay more comfortable in the most uncomfortable of situations where he hadn't needed to. It was recognized and very much appreciated by Ramsay (especially his pride!) Perhaps if he remained on his best behavior the other man would do him a solid and would tell Sansa that nothing had happened while she was away. No… Ramsay knew better. Jon had already stated that he would not lie to her if she asked, and in that way, Ramsay knew he was doomed as Sansa wasn't likely not to be curious about what he'd been up to in her absence.

Ramsay was certainly feeling rather imprudent after the fact, but he doubted that would be sufficient regret when it came out in a telling of his horrendous behavior to her. For now he just wondered how she would take the news and desperately hoped it would be well enough to forgive him. He could take another punishment (even if he really didn't want to forego one praying that Sansa would find his suffering at Jon's hands to be satisfactory.) Ramsay could take pain, what worried him most was how she would regard him after what he'd done had come out. Would she still look at him the same way as she had when she had left him, or would that raw attraction melt away to be replaced by indifference? To Ramsay, the thought of her disinterest in him made him feel sick with anxiety; he'd feel her fury any day to her apathy.


	24. Bumps in the Road

Chapter Twenty-Four

Bumps in the Road

The next four days passed in a similar fashion for Ramsay where Temeric and Cecil would come to fetch him for breakfast with Jon. The first few days in Jon's company had started off stiff and quiet but as each day came and went, their conversation grew less strained. Ramsay found his anticipation for Sansa's return growing and as such, he would typically start the meal with asking Jon if he had heard word from crow or if any of the scouts had reported back from the direction she had departed. Ramsay's concern for Sansa was something that Jon easily shared, and Jon was quick to impart the status that he had yet to hear anymore of her whereabouts to him.

Jon had sent two capable riders to ride out a few miles from the keep the morning after Sansa's crow had arrived. The men were given orders that once Sansa had been spotted to split off where one would ride to Sansa to escort her back to the keep, and the other would ride back to inform Jon how soon to expect her arrival home. Both men were eager for Sansa's safe return, so it made for an easy start to their morning meal conversation between the two to speak about Sansa's homecoming which typically branched into (for Jon) mostly boring matters of court that Jon felt comfortable enough imparting to Ramsay. Part of Jon's duties these days consisted of settling farmer's land disputes over such things as wandering cows eating another's winter food stores or some other fashion of drudgery Jon really didn't want to deal with, but the news seemed to engage Ramsay well enough to give the two something light to talk about during their meals.

Ramsay listened to Jon raptly not because he really gave a damn about some peasant's cows getting into another peasant's grain stores, but the summary of goings on around the area was better than the nothingness of his days filled with much of the same bland activity within the dungeon and isolated from the majority of any other people. His life had become better than it was Ramsay realized, and where he may not have appreciated the small added privileges he was now granted before, having originally spent over a week mostly chained to a mattress or tied to the X cross that decorated the dungeon had changed his perspective considerably.

As Jon had offered to him earlier, Ramsay was awarded a morning walk each day. To keep hateful eyes from staring Ramsay down or anything more drastic, Ramsay was directed to take his walks inside the castle and along the keep's upper wall. Jon opted this course to keep Ramsay safe; the first uncomfortable walk the two had taken outside around the perimeter had shown there were many in his ranks that still regarded Ramsay with glares that echoed intent to maim or kill, and so Jon decided it best to remove any opportunity for altercations (either from someone with a grudge or Ramsay himself who seemed prone to fight if at all goaded.)

Jon attended Ramsay's side for these morning trysts when time permitted him to do so, and if not, Temeric and Cecil still accompanied Ramsay and would occasionally amuse him by sharing stories or jokes walking beside him rather than a few paces behind him as they were prone to do when Jon accompanied Ramsay. Much to Ramsay's surprise, these guards treated him less as a secured prisoner and more as an amiable acquaintance now. They didn't chain him down to his mattress in their presence anymore and instead let Ramsay wander about the small space of the dungeon freely where instances of mutually enjoyed moments between them were becoming more common as the days went by.

There easygoing attitude was a mark of trust that Ramsay took to heart especially on their walks about the castle in the early afternoons. Temeric and Cecil (with Jon's permission) had decided to start taking Ramsay to the kitchens to let him be given his lunch to eat it in the servant's dining hall rather than at the small table in his cell. The change in environment meant that Ramsay was exposed to more people in the keep (even if none of them seemed to acknowledge him and those that did notice him actively avoided Ramsay.) The ability to at least watch people milling about and interacting with one another cheered Ramsay's mood and left him feeling less dour and lonely. It wasn't as if he'd regularly made a habit to talk to any of them anyhow, so taking in their activities from afar was calming like that of observing fish swimming about in a glass bowl.

Previously Ramsay would have taunted the servants to get a reaction out of them for a bit of amusement, but Ramsay was quick to forego such sport in memory of how Temeric and Cecil had openly disapproved of him bullying the maid that had brought him clothes and shoes for his first outing with Jon. That same maid had once feared him, and since Jon had last thrashed him, she now made a point to give a knowing smirk in Ramsay's direction whenever the two were in the same room. Her audacity to mock his humiliation made the bile in his throat rise, but he held his tongue mostly to remain good spirited around Temeric and Cecil. For some reason that he couldn't fathom, he didn't want to cause problems for or disappoint these men; Ramsay chalked it up mainly to the fact that they were his jailers and keeping them happy meant that they treated him well. This wasn't the full truth though as Ramsay was starting to genuinely like these men even if their kindness towards granting him privileges was a huge factor in his fondness.

Ramsay much preferred Temeric and Cecil's company over the evening watch that never spoke to him other than very generic responses to his queries (no matter how he had tried to engage them in a similar dialogue that he found stimulated conversation with his day shift guards.) These guards were not cruel to him like the previous two guards that Ramsay was more than happy he rarely caught a glimpse of (although Ramsay made sure to give them a wide smile and a nod when he managed to catch them on the start of his morning walks as they went about changing posts on the wall shivering with furs draped about them plentifully. Apparently their new detail was that of the earliest and coldest morning hours as wall lookouts. Ramsay had satisfyingly mused their fate was quite fitting, and he took much joy in their suffering especially as they returned soured hate filled glares to his malicious grin.)

No, the evening shift was thankfully nothing like that of Reginald and Jove; but they were rather a boring lot. The only interactions between Ramsay and the night guards came when Ramsay needed to be released to use the privy or Jon had arrived for dinner where he would be unchained to dine in much the same fashion as they had for dinner every night since Jon had made it a habit to do so. Ramsay looked forward to these dinners followed by a relaxing night cap by the fire. He found himself increasingly enjoying Jon's camaraderie as Jon became more comfortable in his presence enjoying the fascinating tales of Jon's encounters with undead beyond the wall and past journeys with his Wildling and Crow allies alike. Ramsay refrained further comments on what he saw as Jon's less civil friends, the Wildlings, when a remark meant to be an offhanded joke was taken very poorly ending in an early departure from Jon and no wine by the hearth for Ramsay.

The event had left Ramsay stunned as he was once more locked down by the guards for the night without further comment or any form of displayed anger other than for Jon to rise with a look of disapproval, placing his napkin on the table, and announcing flatly that they were done for the night. The guards had moved forward then, and Ramsay had numbly watched Jon depart as he was pointed towards his mattress like a dog being thrown outside for traipsing mud on a clean floor. It had taken several harried hours of reflection on what exactly he'd done that had set Jon off to leave so abruptly, and once Ramsay had realized his mistake in referring to the Wildings as 'a well-trained feral rabble,' he immediately felt chagrinned.

At the start of the next morning, Ramsay was quietly led to the study. He had been brought to this room, only a hall's length from the dungeon, for the past four days. Jon had designated the small room as a quieted away location within the keep for them to meet each morning for breakfast holding a far warmer atmosphere than the cold and drab cell Ramsay was restricted to for the majority of his day outside his brief morning walkabout and his afternoon lunch in the servant's dining quarters.

Ramsay was relieved Jon wasn't angry enough to forego breakfast with him entirely as he'd feared Jon might for his rude comment at dinner the night prior. Before Jon could address Ramsay with more than a nod of acknowledgement to his arrival, Ramsay opened with an immediate apology, "I'm… I'm sorry about last night. It was wrong of me to refer to your Wildling friends in that manner." Ramsay chuckled tensely, "I… don't really know anything of Wildlings outside of the stories I've been told from others and yourself; they have always been seen as a savage people that we killed on sight for invading our lands," seeing Jon's brow drawing down in agitation, Ramsay quickly added, "…but it was a mark of prejudice to assume they are all a barbaric lot. Forgive my misguided beliefs."

Ramsay should have been well aware by now though that the Wildlings that accompanied Jon were his allies, so the mean spirited remark had annoyed him. It hadn't helped that he'd had a particularly grueling day going back and forth with members of noble houses earlier that day wanting to know what he planned to do if the sighted ships from across the sea were in fact heading north to challenge them. Jon sighed taking in that Ramsay did at least wear the countenance of regret for his bigoted opinion (even if his apology was still tainted in narrow-mindedness.) Jon couldn't really blame Ramsay for that opinion as many of his Northern brethren had held similar views prior to the war, and Jon had met with enough disputes then and occasionally even now because of said bigotry.

It was an honest attempt to apologize, so it would have to be enough. Jon nodded, "Apology accepted, Ramsay. In the future please do refrain from passing quick judgement on those you have no bearing to evaluate," as he spoke, Jon gestured for Ramsay to take his seat. A visible weight was lifted from Ramsay's posture as he followed the motion to sit looking immediately relieved by Jon's invitation and acceptance of his apology. Jon continued to chide him though having felt not only the irritation of Ramsay's words but many disgruntled opinions lobbed at him over the passing days from others (nobles, soldiers, and Wildlings alike) that saw Ramsay walking freely from the dungeon as an affront to the war where their kin had perished violently in. Jon had done his best to assure that Ramsay would be working to repay his debt to those he'd wronged at Sansa's behest once the lady of the house returned. It was enough to send those that were unhappy with the situation away, but there were still many mutterings that moved under breaths that Jon had to let lay unheeded in hopes that the people's anger with Ramsay would begin to tone down once Ramsay had begun working on the list Sansa had pushed him to create.

Time would tell, but if Ramsay spouted off to the wrong person in the manner he'd done to Jon last night, it could cause an even greater wave of unrest in those that followed House Stark. For this, Jon felt a need to drive his point home to Ramsay, and his voice took on a more harsh timber than normal as he clipped staring his seriousness across the table at Ramsay who now sat stiffly with squared shoulders and hands folded in his lap as if her were a soldier standing at attention, "The Wildlings fought with me not only here to take back the North but on the other side of the wall. They're good, honorable people that have my back, and for being a feral rabble as you put it, they have acted more civilly than you ever demonstrated. I was initially upset by your words, but I was not evoked to respond, Ramsay. Others might truly take offense, and if that happens, you will bring problems not only down on your head but on mine and Sansa's for harboring you from the justice many wish to see you served. Your actions and words reflect our choice to keep your head on your shoulders, so it would be in your best interest and ours to consider your words and actions very carefully. You must always be mindful of how your words and deeds affect this house."

As the scolding continued, Ramsay's face fell and by the point Jon was finished speaking, he was slouching with folded arms wearing a deep tight-lipped frown. This conversation was beginning to sound like many he'd had with his father. It rang with the nostalgia of the same brow beating sensation Ramsay had often felt on numerous occasions where he was told what he should and should not do. Just as when he'd had these conversations with his father, Ramsay remained sullen, fuming quietly to himself but not daring to protest. There was nothing to be added that he was sure wouldn't get shot down or lead to more admonishment, so Ramsay did the next best thing which was to avoid any further discussion and let the topic blow over in the grace of stretching silence.

So it was that the two returned to that stiff and rigid dining experience they had shared in the beginning of their relationship where both men ate without speaking. Jon surprised Ramsay though as they both finished and rose from the table and Jon conveyed that he was free to join Ramsay for his walk. After this scolding and the obvious social blunder on his part, Ramsay had half expected the remainder of their time together, before Sansa's return, would be spent much like the first couple days where Jon had disciplined him, but it seemed that Jon was already ready to move on and show Ramsay that the matter was put behind them.

The incident had kept Ramsay's mind racing for half the night preceding he and Jon's breakfast; Ramsay knew he would have little time to make things right with Jon before having to face Sansa with his newest list of transgressions that she was more than sure to learn of quickly enough. The thought of Jon giving Sansa a bad report on top of his already to be seen poor actions had filled Ramsay with enough dread that he'd sworn he felt ghost pains of the strapping he'd endured twice over since the one that she'd delivered him before leaving on her journey.

The actual pain had faded; what had not faded was the embarrassing reminder as Ramsay had had to learn to cope with his stinging pride when moving in a given way in his chair, and the remnant chaffing from the fading rash of bruises on his backside that gave him a lack to find any comfortability sitting for those first few days after the fact. It was a firm statement of his unacceptable behavior being intolerable and how as a result he'd found himself bare assed and well-disciplined. This was a sad fact of his new reality, and as loathe as Ramsay was to endure it, he was more adverse now to have to repeat it in any degree!

The revelation that Jon had already seemingly forgiven him his latest lapse of etiquette eased the tension that had been building within Ramsay since the point he'd known he'd said something wrong to Jon. Sansa was due to return any time now, if her missive's arrival stated anything of the time it took her to reach her destination and return. The more upset Jon was with him upon her arrival home would be a direct correlation to how angry Sansa would in turn be with him. To see Jon seemed mostly unruffled by the event enough to be ready to drop it easily enough boded well for Ramsay and gave him an overall wave of relief that he may yet still be capable of explaining himself out of further punishment (or at least a much lighter one!)

The two donned their coats filing out of the room and down the hall towards the north-side entrance to the wall's perimeter. There was a point at every end of the castle to move across the expanse of the wall, but it didn't go around fully leaving a need to enter the keep to continue around to the next facing wall at each corner. The break in the wall lent for a small escape from the frigid winds that whipped against the men as they walked the narrow cobbled stone ledges.

They had moved into the second crossing, and as they continued on, Jon gravely remarked on the wounded soldiers that were set up now in makeshift cots in the banquet hall and how many had now perished due to the harsh weather and the grievous injuries they'd borne. Ramsay had been trailing a few feet behind Jon quietly taking in his words with head bowed as his ears focused on the distress in the other man's voice. Ramsay wondered why Jon was telling him this; Ramsay had to ponder now if by relaying this macabre news Jon meant for him to feel some sort of guilt for these men. The thought of such an expectation was laughable. How could he? Ramsay didn't care about those men; they had been his enemy, they had challenged his authority and position as warden of the North, so why should he care if they died screaming into the night or quietly in their sleep? Jon's intonation made Ramsay feel that he should care which caused Ramsay an inner wrenching of what? …shame? No… Ramsay couldn't put his finger on it, but it made him feel uneasy and out of his element. He didn't like questioning himself and his actions especially his feelings, but here he was again riding this same horse that the Starks continuously made him ride.

Ramsay had been contemplating all the implications of his warring emotions to Jon's statements when he'd realized that Jon had stopped speaking. Curious, Ramsay brought his gaze up to see Jon staring out at the horizon, and his own eyes drifted over following suit to catch what had caused Jon to pause. His heart lifted to see one of the two horsemen Jon had mentioned were to race back and tell of Sansa's arrival, but that unexpected joy quickly dissipated as Ramsay then took note of the second horsemen not far behind the first. The pause ensued as all eyes now probed the field still covered in morning fog that obscured any clear sight. They squinted leaning on the castle's ledge to register the meaning behind what they were taking in. "Wait… isn't there only supposed to be one of your riders returning?" Ramsay slowly questioned worry lacing his speech, but his concern quickly escalated to alarm as the thunderous sound of hooves beating reached his ears and many more men on horseback crested the hilltop carrying red flags bearing the motif of four chains linked in the middle by a central ring, the banner was readily known as belonging to house Umber.

Jon's jaw tightened as he turned briskly on his heel only stopping his stride long enough to hurriedly address Ramsay, "Go back to the dungeon with the guard and await my return." Jon only gave Ramsay a firm look that spoke not to disobey as he barreled forward with purpose across the length of the wall and into the keep.

Ramsay had gone slack jawed as Jon's words hit him and an overwhelming need to join Jon in this crusade rose through him. Ramsay roared back indignantly once he'd processed the command, "Wait… what? No! I'll not stand idly by awaiting an answer on Sansa's wellbeing!" As Ramsay yelled this to Jon's retreating back, he raced to follow after him, but Cecil and Temeric closed the gap stepping in front of Ramsay and restraining him from following Jon further. Ramsay's eyes whipped between the two men wildly, "Let me go! I know these people better than you, better than Jon! They're ruthless, and they shouldn't be trusted!"

Temeric sighed giving Cecil a look that spoke to the effect that he was surprised if anyone was to say as much about the Umbers that it would be, Ramsay, their formal alley, "Alright, alright," Temeric held up a placating hand doing his best to calm Ramsay as the smaller man doggedly sought to push forward and through his guards. Temeric huffed as he hooked his arm more tightly around Ramsay's bicep, "I get your concern, but Lord Stark commanded that you return to the dungeon and wait on him, and if you aren't going to go willingly, you're going to force us to make you, Ramsay.

Cecil chimed in imploringly, "Please don't put yourself in a bad situation again; you know if you don't follow the instructions given, it's not going to turn out well for you when this is all said and done… you do know that don't you?"

Cecil's words only seemed to enrage Ramsay more, but unlike previously, Ramsay didn't bite back with cruel snide remarks or resist the guards' further attempts to subdue him. Ramsay merely stiffened clenching his fists as he turned to stare out once more at the emerging cavalry army amassing through the fog with foot soldiers running in behind them. Ramsay was doing his best to make out anyone he may recognize, but it was to no avail as he didn't recognize any of the men he'd seen at Smalljon Umber's side when the men had met to strategize fighting Jon and his Wildling army originally.

Temeric and Cecil were on the verge of physically hauling Ramsay back to his cell when Ramsay growled out in exasperation finally taking in the expressions that the two men were losing patience with his failure to comply with Jon's orders, "Fine. Take me back then!" Temeric and Cecil shared a relieved glance before slowly releasing him and allowing Ramsay to willingly be guided back to the dungeon.

...

As the days went by, Brienne's words had given Sansa much to consider both before and after the eventful confrontation with Ramsay's mother. The Lady from the Sapphire Isles had assured her that the fears she had held about her feelings towards Ramsay were in fact not the same as the way Ramsay's mother had seemingly regarded him. It was no secret that Sansa had once hated Ramsay… only weeks prior in fact, and this anomaly created even more self-reflection on Sansa's part.

An epiphany had struck Sansa in her contemplations that she had truly let herself forgive Ramsay; she had already forgiven him to some degree when she'd seen him break into tears at the prospect of her ready to take him again yet still willingly ready to comply physically to her demand of him even though mentally she could tell he was in agony. She had seen his reaction as a curiosity then that caused something inside of her to seize to a halt as Sansa truly identified what in its entirety that she had done to Ramsay. She had done this, created a break in his psyche where she could have raped him with abandon heedless of his misery. Ramsay would have done so with her, and he would have taken great joy in it. If she'd been mentally weaker, Ramsay could have broken her spirit as he'd done to Theon. But, Ramsay hadn't broken her, no, she'd broken him.

She hadn't taken him that day even though the carnal beast that shadowed her desires, the wolf within, saw Ramsay's tears as an inviting weakness to tear in to. She had wanted to see his face streaked with those lovely tears, Ramsay's beautiful ice blue eyes spilling regret and staring pitifully at her. Sansa had put him on his back specifically to drink in the lovely expressions she'd encountered since the morning she'd seen him look up at her, folded in on himself, soiled from the abuse of multiple men, and shivering in the waters that had long since went cold.

It felt wrong to want to see the vulnerability she'd witnessed then in his eyes when she's put herself inside him. Sansa still imagined how he would have gasped at her invasion that day, and in the darkest part of the night when no one could see her, Sansa pleasured herself imagining that she in fact hadn't stopped. It was a fantasy, and even though she knew that she could not hurt him like this now, the fever within her wanted to claim him as she knew she could. The heady thoughts of holding him down and taking from him, feeling Ramsay's muscles tensing under her as she heedlessly pushed inside of him had Sansa teaming with unbridled desire as she fervently stroked her finger over her swelling clit.

Sansa orgasmed then, and she orgasmed many times over in the nights that followed to the remembered feeling of pushing her glass cock in and out of Ramsay. Her mind locked now on how Ramsay's own body had internally resisted her ministrations causing the bulb of the glass cock inside her to feel his every twitch and clench. The pressure against her labia built as she moved inside of him; it was an ecstasy that was beyond imaginable to her before she'd experienced it, and now that she had, she couldn't help the vivid fantasies that followed. Sansa was swollen with fleeting thoughts of taking Ramsay where she covered his whimpers with her hungry mouth and his tears were kissed away all the while as she continued to take from him as vehemently as she had that first time.

This was a lucid and pleasant fantasy that had carried on until she'd came and fallen to sleep only to invade her semiconscious mind as a dream in the wee hours of the morning. It hadn't taken long for these inspirations to truly take hold of Sansa's aching and budding libido to eventually crest her over the edge with a forceful scream. Sansa's eyes snapped open, and she gasped in shock clasping a hand over her involuntary cry in an attempt to muffle the noise that had long since escaped. The shout felt incredibly loud in her own ears, and her eyes widened in imagined horror that someone would have heard her keen and come to her carriage to investigate. Excruciatingly long minutes ticked by, and Sansa's now very sensitive hearing only picked up the casual murmuring of some of the soldiers carrying on by the fire. There were no footfalls heading in her direction; Sansa let go of her held breath as her body unraveled from the rigid stance she'd balled into created by her startled awakening.

Her mind drifted back to the happy carousing heard by the fire pit. The soldiers that had accompanied Sansa all seemed in good spirits now knowing that by some time tomorrow morning their trek across the frozen expanse of the Northern territories would be at an end, and all would be able to rest their weary bodies in front of the keep's main hall's hearth and drink to the accomplishment of completing the journey they'd set forth to endure. Sansa was more than ready to be home again, and although at points throughout this adventure she'd wished more than anything that she'd never left the keep, when all was said and done, she couldn't honestly say that it wasn't worth all that she had gone through. These thoughts calmed her as Sansa realized that her secret pleasuring of herself and the unintentional moan she'd let loose had in fact not been detected and assumed to be some sort of attack on her, Sansa let out a sigh of relief able to drift back to sleep with the comforting thought that she would be home very soon now.

The pleasant thoughts that Sansa had fallen asleep to were blissfully shattered to the sudden rousing she'd encountered when the carriage abruptly stopped almost causing her to roll from the carriage's bench. Having been jerked awake, it took a few moments for Sansa to register that the soldiers were barking in warning. She stumbled wearily to her feet making her way to the door and quickly stepping outside into the drifts of snow to wade over to what seemed to be creating such a commotion. By what she saw, Sansa grasped rapidly that they had converged with the King's Road, normally that would have been cause for excitement because it meant that they were scant hours from reaching Winterfell.

The King's Road was one of the most traveled roads in all of Westeros it was true, but the enormity that enveloped Sansa as she took in the wide spread tread of the many feet and horse hooves heading in the direction of her home created the sensation within her that she'd just had a bucket of icy water thrown over her head. The implications could not be ignored, this was no small party but an army heading towards her home. Her heart was in her throat as the worse thoughts that Sansa didn't want to contemplate but couldn't help but to overwhelmed her; she was terrified, terrified for those she cared for, terrified for the home she'd sacrificed so much to reclaim, terrified of losing everything and everyone she cared about.

Sansa said nothing as she moved deftly over to one of the horses she knew was swift and dependable mounting it and spurring the horse to the front of the gawking men that still were arguing about what tactics they could possibly employ to face an army. Their voices quieted as her horse snorted its impatience seemingly on Sansa's behalf; the mare pawed anxiously at the ground sensing the adrenaline pulsing through its human companions immediately putting the beast on edge. A few of the men suggested that the best course of action would be to hide and wait for the army to pass by before returning to the keep to which Sansa straightened regarding the soldiers with a cold glare as she spoke matter-of-factly, "We can't take on an army, but I'm not about to lie in the snow drifts waiting like a damsel in distress for these people to slaughter us. Drop what will weigh your horses down within the carriage, we will move it in to the wood line and come back for it. Right now we ride for Winterfell, and we do not stop until we are home."

Tormund chuckled in the gleeful manner he was known for as he rode up beside Sansa with a hearty nod giving her a wide smile, "Now that's the Stark attitude I've grown so damn fond of. Come on then, let's ride, I'm not about to let my folk have a fight I'm not a part of!"

Davos, Podrick, Brienne and a few men that Sansa did not personally know were the first to join Tormund and her as Sansa nodded to the rest of the men that still seemed a bit bewildered by the sudden change, "Ride as fast as you can to catch up to us once you've hidden the carriage and unburdened your horses. We will regroup in the Wolf's Wood by the well at Cater's farm." Without further word, Sansa turned her horse and barreled off down the well-worn road with those readily capable of keeping up trailing swiftly behind her.

The farm was one of the biggest in the area and only a few miles west of the King's Road and the keep. It was at least a two hour ride Sansa knew, and it would have to be enough time to consider what their next move would be. There was no way that the twelve men in the totality of their party (no matter how good they were) could take on an army. Sansa desperately hoped they wouldn't have to.


	25. Journey's End

Chapter Twenty-Five

Journey's End

There was no keeping them out Jon knew as he stood solidly in the keep's courtyard looking out through the broken remains of the once sturdy gate Wun-Wun had battered open; it was a boon then, but it was proving to be a detriment now. Jon had sent runners as he'd suited up in leathered armor, gauntlets, and cloak; his Valyrian steel sword, Longclaw, lay ready at his hip for another fight if the Umbers so wished it. Soldiers from the north and beyond the wall alike had been roused by the winding horn causing all that still milled about the grounds to start moving with purpose, suiting up, and readying their weapons for battle. Archers quickly made their way up the sides of the castle positioning themselves on the wall to prepare to shower a deadly wave of arrows at the entrance as the scouts Jon had sent out to meet Sansa barreled through the opening and headed straight over to where Jon stood.

The first man to reach him tugged violently on his horse's reins sending the beast whinnying with a balk to stop inches from Jon. Once the horse was under control, the man barked out fearfully, "There's too many to count, my lord! We tried to make it back to warn you, but one of their lookouts… they saw our fire by the roadside before we could snuff it out. I'm sorry!"

Jon's eyes were wild as they scanned back to see how much further away the Umbers were before switching his attention back to the scout as he yelled, "And my sister… did they have her?"

The man merely looked confused momentarily before shrugging and shaking his head simultaneously, "I… I don't know, my lord; I didn't see her!"

Jon turned to stare at the second scout who had come to a halt beside his companion, but the man only shook his head no before Jon could ask the same of him. Having heard all the news the two men could grant him, Jon gave a small nod of dismissal, and the two men cleared out leaving an unobstructed view of the gateway's opening as a line of riders bearing the Umber's flag trotted up to the opening and halted to await their lords' and lady's arrival.

Jon's heart thrummed in his ears as the shouting within the keep rose into a raucous clamor regarding the army's approach. Many of his men were now suited with weapons drawn and standing at the ready beside Jon as they funneled protectively around him and into a guarded stance. If the Umbers held Sansa captive, Jon had no real answer for them. Half of his army lay dead or too wounded to fight, and the knights of the Vale had taken up residence for the winter in Moat Cailin much too far away to get any help from them. It was a terrible disadvantage, but there was nothing more to be done, so Jon clenched his jaw in worried anticipation as he rigidly awaited the Umbers' arrival and the news they heralded.

…*****************************************************

The horses panted audibly in strained snorts as the small group galloped at breakneck speeds to make ground and ascertain just what had become of Winterfell in their absence. Sansa's heart was racing as fast as that of her horse; she worried about her home and the people that she was too far away from to know if they were okay. Surprisingly, Sansa discovered that her own group was not as far from the approaching forces as that which she'd assumed.

Tormund held up a hand to halt their progress much to the confusion of the others until he spoke, and they observed, "Do you hear that?" The party was silent save the horses heaving to catch their breath, and it was then that the sound of a procession of riders could be heard faintly trotting off into the distance. Having this news, the group cautiously rode forward until they physically spotted the cavalry and foot soldiers; it was an immediate relief to see that they were not marching back from Winterfell but towards it. There was still time to act; whether it was time enough to do something or merely be a bystander to carnage remained to be seen.

The assembled troupe was still about twenty minutes from their intended destination to meet up with the rest of their lagging party; it would take the others some time to cover their tracks and the carriage from sight, so they would not be able to join them in time to make a difference if they were to wait for their arrival. To know they would be able to keep tabs on the band of mysterious riders and perhaps surpass them in reaching Winterfell had changed much. Sansa had expected that her band would have arrived long after this force had travelled to her home and done what they set out to do, but to know that they were closing in on the legion before it'd reached Winterfell set her mind in a flurry of opportunities yet to enact. She was no tactician though, so she turned her gaze to one whom she knew was, "Ser Davos, what should we do?"

Davos' gaze moved around the circle of his companions noting that all eyes had come to rest on him. He squared his jaw reflecting on what they knew and what they didn't before finally responding, "We might be able to make it back to Winterfell before this army, but you may wish to stay behind, Lady Sansa. If we aren't careful, they could spot us, and if we are compromised…" his gaze fell gravely on Sansa, "…it could gain these interlopers an edge against your brother."

Sansa lifted her chin regally, "Then I would suggest we stay well out of sight. Forgive my harsh words Ser Davos, but I'm sick of running and waiting for something to happen. If I am to be a true protector of the North, as is my duty to hold the Stark name, I cannot bury my head in the sand wondering what has become of my home while others fight my battles for me."

Davos gave Sansa a slow nod, "Fair enough. It's settled then, if this is the course we will take, then we need to find a way to move well around these men and get back to the castle first. This is your home, my Lady; of all of us, you would be the best to decide on the most effective route to travel."

Sansa considered where they were and how best to keep from being discovered. The fear she now felt coursing through her made the blood drain from her face, but she kept a calm façade as she informed her attendants, "My guess is that this army will likely continue straight down the King's Road to the East Gate entrance. Our best chance will be to take a trail less travelled that leads to the outskirts of Winter Town. We can exit the hillside and travel along the keep's wall to the North Gate where there is an underground passageway to the crypt hidden in the rubble by the broken tower. Stark ancestors created it as a secret escape should our house ever come under siege. We can use it to gain discreet access to the castle, hopefully before this army has a chance to make their move."

Tormund chuckled, "We need to act now if we are going to get far enough ahead of these cunts."

"Agreed," Sansa announced turning to the two other soldiers that had ridden with her, Davos, Tormund, Brienne, and Poddrick, "Wait here for the others and continue to Cater's farm as planned. Tell them of what we propose to do and linger long enough for this army to leave Winterfell by way of the King's Road before you return. If we are captured, I want my brother to know what had become of me."

The two soldiers nodded an affirmative and the small band fractured as Sansa and her core group barreled off towards the keep and the two remaining soldiers followed their Lady's command to remain and meet up with the rest of their men still in route.

The cavalry and foot soldiers were travelling at a relaxed clip, but the quintet that continued on still had to ride their horses to the brink of collapse in order to weave around the army and avoid detection. It took veering off of the well-worn King's Road and over to the outer edge of the Wolfswood, where the low rise hills obscured them from view well enough to pass the convoy. They were semi-exposed for a fraction of the time, but it was a calculated risk they had to take. Thankfully the invaders were not watching for lookouts as they passed by. Retreat into the Wolfswood itself for a better vantage of stealth would have been ideal, but it wasn't plausible. Any time advantage gained would have been lost to the maneuvering of their horses through the wooded terrain.

The party rode hard across the expanse only daring to slow to give their horses a chance to recoup once they were well past the approaching riders. They did not stop though, and having surpassed the great odds that they may be spotted and possibly captured, Tormund announced heartily, "It's a wonder my people hadn't crossed the wall to settle these lands sooner; you fuckers in the North are oblivious!" The group shared smiles and soft chuckles at Tormund's sarcastic joke feeling well the relief in his statement that they could calm a little. They weren't safe by any means, but their morale had been significantly lifted to see Winterfell's keep coming into view. Sansa inhaled deeply thinking that she was never as grateful as she was right now to know she was almost home.

…*****************************************************

Jon wore a firm frown watching the Umbers assemble at the entrance of the castle until he felt a heavy hand give his shoulder a jovial slap. His eyes widened in surprise darting to his side to see who would dare approach him in such a way at the onset of a soon to be parlay. Jon's face immediately erupted into a smile to see the gruff grin of his redheaded alley. Tormund nodded at Jon's recognition, "I see we made it back just in time for the festivities."

Jon turned back to see the crowd parting and Sansa and the others striding towards him with triumphant smiles; he breathed an exhale of relief as the dread Jon had felt wondering about Sansa's safety melted away. "It's good to see you," Jon remarked with a heartfelt timbre.

Sansa beamed a smile confidently in his direction as she moved to his side to place a hand on his which was still tightly gripping the hilt of his sword, "I would wish to give you a proper embrace, but…" her vision shifted to the gate, "I see we have company." Jon's eyes followed her gaze as he gave an affirmative nod taking the initiative now to begin walking assertively forward towards their unexpected guests. His expression once more denoted his serious nature, and Sansa trailed boldly beside him with an equally stony mien.

Lord Lamor clamored forward to cross the gate's opening on a Clydesdale fit to bear the large man's weight. He was flanked by his equally large siblings Jareth and Matina who casually looked about the forces displayed in front of them as if assessing their ability to take the keep. Although the soldiers that trotted in beside the nobles bore white peace banners to state the intent of this meeting was a parlay, the stance of the Umbers and the scowls painted firmly on their faces suggested that they could care less if this were to be a civil discourse.

Sansa was the first to speak as the two moved within a few feet of the Umbers much to Jon's surprise who had prepared to begin the parlay. Her voice was crisp and direct as she glared daggers at them, "To what do we owe the unexpected arrival of those sworn against House Stark?" Sansa exuded an ember of agitation having recognized promptly their house's flag had flown on the opposite side of the battlefield.

All three nobles now starred down at the Starks with menacing grins. The air felt thick with tension, so much so, Jon felt a reflexive need to take a protective step forward as he added, "We have lost much on both sides, but I see that your banner men carry flags of treaty. In respect, I would ask what it is that you wish to speak on."

Lord Lamor's nostrils flared as he let go of a guttural chortle, "I've heard tales of the brass balls your sister possesses, and I can see the rumors may hold some truth to them."

Matina followed her brother's words with a condescending chuckle as she stared down at Sansa looking clearly unimpressed by the woman's comparatively smaller frame than her own stout form. Lady Matina was not like most noble women that wore dresses and proper composures choosing instead to wear a grimace and battlement leathers with steeled armor like that of her present kin. Having been the middle child with one sister and many rough and tumble brothers, she'd grown up, as many of the other nobles would whisper in private company, rather brutish (not unlike most of the youngest Umber nobles.) The fact that she was thick framed only had helped to cement to her a need to lay claim to an aura of intimidation, an attribute where looks had clearly failed her.

Sansa found herself bristling as the two shared a heated glare. The woman offended her even though she'd not said a word, Lady Matina hadn't needed to as her posture spoke intent far more plainly than prettily exchanged barbs. Her eyes bore into Sansa now in a visible effort to make her uncomfortable. The woman was manish, but unlike Brienne held no stance of nobility as she slumped forward in a hunched bored fashion making it quite obvious she held no desire to be present for these talks let alone held respect for House Stark. It took all Sansa's effort to pry her gaze from Lady Matina to address Lord Lamor's comment. She straightened lifting her chin to direct her attention back to him and away from his leering sister, "I stand before you now not as a rumor but as Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell and wardeness of the North. We have retaken our home where you sought to defend those that had wrongfully usurped it, tell me now why I should not have you beheaded for treason in front of all houses that have united once more under our banners."

Lord Lamor's grin practically split his face as he rumbled with patronizing laughter, "Ah yes, a whole lot of heads rolling I've heard. No wait a minute, that's not what I've heard at all! I've actually heard lots of other rumors about what exactly you deign to do to your enemies, Lady Stark, but let us not speak on rumors and focus instead on the facts. We didn't come here to piss in the wind. We could have come to fight, and if we did, we might be an even match… perhaps even at a disadvantage I'll be kind enough to give you being this is your home and all. It doesn't right matter as fighting at this juncture does neither of us any good. Winter is upon us; let's not leave each other's company at odds. We've got too much to offer the other by standing together over apart wouldn't you agree?"

Jon cleared his throat asking inquisitively, "Have you come to claim fealty then?" He was relieved to hear that the Umbers did in fact want to make an effort to make amends although the friction Sansa was creating wasn't helping turn the discussion into an amiable one. Thankfully she said nothing more, but her glare and pursed lips relayed exactly how she was feeling.

Jareth spoke up now as he cursed in disgust, "Fuck taking a knee to these twats! We don't need em' Lamor. What the hell do they got other than a handful of weak houses nipping at their heels?"

"Shut your fucking trap!" Lord Lamor growled harshly at his brother whose horse staggered backward at the overbearing tone the eldest Umber carried. The youngest didn't respond, but the glare shared between the two held a static of its own. Lord Lamor turned back to focus on the Starks smiling once more, "Forgive my brother Jareth, it's been a long ride. His words were not elegant, but I mirror his sentiment that we didn't come here to beg forgiveness for the choices our brother made or add our people to your ranks. We did however come here to tell you that we would prefer to walk away from one another with no ill will."

"We want our brother's body," Lady Matina added brusquely, and Lord Lamor glanced her way nodding as he turned back to Jon and Sansa, "My sister speaks out of turn, but truly. We will take our dead and intern them on our lands where they belong."

Jon nodded, "That's a reasonable request. No one should deny the right to properly mourn one's kin. I…" Sansa cut him off as she announced harshly, "Their bodies still lay in the field buried in the snow; please collect them and leave our home. We will not hold a grudge against your house as we have a right to, but that does not mean that we are friends."

Lord Lamor smirked, "Aye, I suppose that's fair enough." He looked to either side taking in his siblings as he stated coolly, "We're done here then." He brought his gaze up once more to Jon and Sansa his smile reflecting an underlying threat as he rounded his horse to depart, "Many blessings and good tidings, House Stark."

Jon and Sansa silently watched as the legion retreated briskly and galloped towards the field that still bore burnt remnants of pyres where others had burned their own dead. With the winter upon them and so many in need of aide, it was a work in progress that Jon was now thankful he'd held as a lower priority to expending efforts in helping the wounded. If they had burned all of the remaining unclaimed bodies as they would have once the snow had let up and his injured were stabilized enough to have sent able bodies to the task, the tail end of this conversation could have ended on an even sourer note than it had.

Jon breathed a great intake of air visibly relaxing as he turned to look over at Sansa whose eyes still followed the Umbers trek like that of a hawk bearing down on a field mouse. Her features were grim, and she'd not relaxed on iota since their departure. He frowned at her now that the threat was seemingly waning into the distance and lectured low enough for only the two of them to hear, "What was that? Were you trying to start a war? I was worried that I was going to have to undermine you if you did not contain yourself."

Sansa's eyes flicked dangerously over to take Jon's expression in, and for a moment it looked as though her face was about to harden in anger, but instead, Sansa ingested Jon's worry, and her eyes softened as she apologized, "I reacted severely. I'm sorry. It took all that we had just to get here ahead of their army, and when I saw them staring down at us… like we were of so little consequence… I… I should have let you speak. You're better suited to it I think."

Jon's brow relaxed and his eyes reflected that puppy dog pout that all the girls fawned over, and Sansa couldn't help but to smirk, "Admit it. You wanted to say it too didn't you?" Jon found his own lip curling to bear a small smile as he answered, "Perhaps. What's done is done, but in the future promise me that you will stay a bit more neutral in the face of possible enemies?"

Sansa took a step towards Jon now wrapping her arms around him to which he followed suit embracing her to his chest tightly. "I promise," Sansa ensured a moment later, and Jon hugged her more tightly in response as he added, "I'm glad you're home. Come, let's get you inside. There's someone that I'm more than certain will be happy to see you've returned safely."

…*****************************************************

Ramsay hadn't stopped pacing agitatedly from one end of the dungeon to the other wholly hating that he was left in the dark having been whisked off to stay hidden away until any hostilities were attended to like that of the infirm or very young or worse like some coward shaking in their boots. He grit his teeth at the thought giving Cecil and Temeric a glare as if they had given him such branding just by keeping him down here. Ramsay growled his annoyance, "How long are we going to just stand here? Will you wait while the enemy raids these halls and skewers you through the backs? We're of no use down here; we should at least have eyes on what is happening out there!"

Temeric was frowning; he wasn't fond of standing down here waiting to hear back about the unknown confrontation either, but he was also well aware that Ramsay's presence would not only be unhelpful but also could cause an uproar if the Umbers spotted him and still considered him an alley. He replied gruffly, "We need to obey orders. We'll not leave this post until given direction to."

Always more on the nervous side when things got edgy, Cecil suggested, "Why don't we play a bit o Alquerques? It'll take your mind off of what's going on out there."

Ramsay scoffed, "By the old gods, are you daft?" He snorted shaking his head in disbelief, "I can't believe you're stupid enough to suggest we play games when by the end of whatever is happening out there may lead to your head lanced on a pike and displayed as wall décor." Cecil blanched surprised at the abrasive manner that Ramsay directed his way.

"Hey now, enough of that, Ramsay. If you can't speak to us properly, we can always lock you down to your bed and stand outside," Temeric piped in hotly to show Ramsay's cruel words towards Cecil weren't going to be tolerated. This was bolder than Ramsay had acted in a while, and Temeric would have normally let such rudeness go with a chiding rather than a threat, but with the added stress of the situation they were enduring, Ramsay's words were getting under his own skin as the fear of what could happen settled in the room like a ghost permeating the atmosphere.

Ramsay glowered at Temeric unapologetically but was wise enough to see that his pushing of limits and harsh comments weren't helping his cause. It didn't stop the roiling wave of worry that was coursing through him to wonder what would happen if the keep erupted in bloodshed. If all of the Starks' men were slaughtered, Jon included, would they spare him, or would his body be thrown upon a tower of mounting dead? Worse, what would happen to Sansa when she returned to Winterfell to see her home ransacked and whatever other atrocities may befall those that still remained here now? Ramsay felt sickened by the prospects and a building rage to the thoughts of what the Umbers might do to her. It was maddening and terrifying to think that there was absolutely nothing in his power he could do for her if this derailed horror he was building within his mind's eye were to actually play out. He held no power anymore, he couldn't protect himself; how could he protect Sansa when he didn't even have a clue where she'd gone?

He'd been so lost in these awful scenarios that he'd failed to notice the faint soft click of her heeled boots on the cobblestoned floor. It wasn't until the audible groan of the heavy door annunciated a breech into the room did Ramsay stop in mid-pace eyes wide and expectant to take in what would greet them. He dully thought to look for a makeshift weapon in the seconds of time that passed, but when he saw who was standing in the doorway, his thoughts halted and an overwhelming bloom of elation washed over him, a tidal wave of emotion that left his chest to heave in relief, "Sansa? Lady Sansa! You… you're home!"

Sansa rewarded him with a small smile as she entered the dungeon looking him over. She was pleased to see him too stating softly, "Ramsay." She strode forward, and he quickly moved to meet her his eyes searching and half expecting that if he were to blink that she would disappear from his sight. Sansa took in his concern reaching out a hand to gently cup his cheek running her thumb over the thick stubble that had taken over his face, "I will have to scold Jon that he did not take good care of you in my absence. You are in dire need of a shave, dear husband."

Ramsay's eyes fluttered as he immediately leaned into her touch feeling instantaneously electrified as he breathed out in a constrained utterance, "I've missed you terribly."

The heat and flush of his skin upon contact accompanied by his words created a shiver of goosebumps to ripple across her flesh; she missed him terribly too. She took a step closer, and his breath hitched as she laid a gentle kiss on his forehead and whispered, "Have you now." Her other hand pushed strands of hair behind his ear drifting down to wrap possessively on to the nape of Ramsay's neck bringing their bodies to such a close proximity she could feel his chest rising and melding into her own. She grew wet to hear him let go a barely audible whimper as she brought her lips down to kiss his earlobe and to feel an immediate erection pulse to life against her thigh. Sansa murmured playfully, "Are you sure?"

Ramsay only nodded lightly into her; swallowing hard as a mixture of desires flourished within him as his senses took in her heartbeat and her scent. His eyes darted about lost in the curvature of her slender neck and fiery tendrils of her hair as he remained rigidly still unsure whether or not he could hold her now even though he wanted to badly. As if sensing this need within him, Sansa's hand that had cupped his cheek maneuvered down his neck and shoulder to brace at the middle of his back and pulled him flat against her into a hug, and Ramsay in turn timidly let his own arms cradle around her waist laying his forehead on her chest. He closed his eyes instantly relaxing into her embrace.

Smiling, Sansa gently planted small kisses onto the top of Ramsay's head feeling a warmth blossom inside of her as he constricted his arms around her more securely the more attention she poured upon him. Thoughts of the affection he'd been denied cropped in the recesses of her mind to feel his need now, and it made her heart ache as she clutched him a little more firmly.

He could stay in this moment forever, but the longer he held onto Sansa the more fear crept within Ramsay that he could lose her until finally he released his hold and took a step back to stare up at her in wonder as he asked, "Jon and I… we saw riders for House Umber approaching… what happened?"

Sansa was silent a long moment studying Ramsay's features and deciding she enjoyed the small wrinkles that became well pronounced in the middle of his brow whenever he became concerned as she answered in an aloof fashion, "We have spoken, they will gather their dead and return home."

This answer didn't satiate Ramsay, and he prodded with a chuckle, "Wait… just like that? They had nothing else to say?" Sansa lifted a brow at Ramsay's newfound boldness as she replied, "Just like that. If they had anything else to say, and I wished to share it with you, I would. Try not to worry on affairs that do not concern you."

Ramsay hadn't expected Sansa to shut him down so thoroughly, and a rush of testiness rolled through him as he scowled. His feelings were quite visibly noticed, and Sansa's expression swiftly darkened as she clipped, "That isn't going to be a problem is it?"

Ramsay's frown deepened as his eyes sought the floor now knowing it would be a challenge of her authority to debate, and with everything else he would need to answer to in short order, Ramsay considered this argument not to be worth destroying the pleasantness they'd just shared, so he muttered out a deflated, "…no."

Sansa stared at Ramsay's bowed head, and whereas before she would have made him annunciate his answer to her, she sensed the struggle within him was great enough without her prodding him. Instead she brought her hand back up to caress the side of his face lifting his chin gently to take in his small pout and wide blue eyes that shot her a cool stare. He wanted to remain angry with her, but looking back at Sansa bearing a soft smile directed at him shook his priorities back to moments before where she'd held him and the want to feel her pressed against him once more. Ramsay blinked as his etched brow softened and his eyes locked on hers.

Sansa's smile grew, "I'm having a bath drawn in the master chambers. It's big enough for the both of us," her grin turned mischievous, and Ramsay found himself licking his lips as he took in the possibilities that such words brought to mind. Her eyes were have lidded now, and from previous experience, Ramsay knew when she gazed at him in such a way that she was aroused which in turn radiated a counter reaction of arousal in him. Sansa leaned forward then to plant a tender kiss on Ramsay's temple before she drew her hand back from him and announced, "A servant will come in to give you a clean shave," she glanced at Temeric and Cecil who stood now at either side of the door looking off in the distance so as not to pry into their Lady's affairs. Sensing that Sansa had turned her attention to them, the two men straightened and did their best to set an aura of attentive guards. She smiled inwardly thinking the two were perfect, and that Jon had chosen well in them. Once she had their full attention, Sansa purred, "When the servant has finished with Ramsay, I wish for you to bring him to my chambers immediately." As she said this, she turned back to glance at Ramsay once more with a flash of devious intent that had his breath catching in his throat as he numbly watched her exit.


	26. Melody

I know many of you are awaiting the bath scene, and it's coming up next I swear! LOL! I got a little caught up in plot points I was developing not expecting that flushing this part out would encompass a little over 4K words... so, I made a chapter break. Forgive me! Oo

Chapter Twenty-six

Melody

It hadn't taken long for the servant to appear with another two that ushered in a chair designed to lean back specifically for shaving. Ramsay's blood ran cold to see the one holding the basket of shaving supplies was none other than the scullery maid that often attended his needs in the morning times bringing him changes of clothes, buckets of water for washing, and that crooked smile that he'd grown to loathe as a sign of mockery.

Ramsay didn't know it, but the maid's smile was not born of contempt but of a sense of displaced nerves. She, Melody Brent, had been quite terrified of Ramsay, having heard well of his reputation and observed the corpses littering the courtyard, flayed of their skin and placed on display as a statement that it was more than unwise to displease the bastard of Bolton. Melody's mother had served House Stark in the fledgling years of her life but had retired to live on their own homestead when their father had earned enough coin to buy a meager plot of land in a province that lay on the outskirts of the White Knife River. Her mother had taken ill herself in the spring, and Melody had to take up the mantle of sole provider for the two of them. She had had three other siblings, but like her father, when a particular bout of illness had swept through their quaint village, it had taken the lives of all but Melody and her mother.

Forced off of their land by the new levied taxes the Boltons had enforced they pay, Melody's mother had no other choice than to sell the land for the owed taxes and seek out employment from the new lord of Winterfell, Roose Bolton. The two were granted room and board with nicer accommodations for servants due to her mother's prior experience at the Stark keep. Weak as she became, Melody's mother still pushed herself working from sunup to sundown helping to direct the staff and washing endless loads of linens to prove her worth and keep their private room within the castle's walls. Melody was seventeen then, and knowing the reputation of the Boltons, her mother had managed to get her assigned to jobs in the kitchens and areas of the castle where she was markedly safer from possible assault. Melody was a plain girl, but she was not unattractive, and her mother often feared for her safety not just from the likes of Ramsay but from all men.

Her mother had created a jagged fear within Melody of the horrors this castle could deliver and of men and their propensity for wickedness towards women. It wasn't hard to assume the worst with the rampant speculations that echoed about the keep, and when her mother, still carrying a lingering cough from the village, had passed at the onset of the fall, Melody would have gone anywhere else had she the ability, but where was she to go?

Her mother's body was removed from the small room that they had shared to be burned before anymore sickness could spread, and Melody (once it was apparent she was not ill like her mother) had been shifted into another, less accommodating room, to share her living space with three other young maids. No longer sheltered by her mother's weighty contribution to the hold, she was given new tasks that sent her to work empting chamber pots, cleaning fire pits, and changing bed linens. She still worked in the kitchens and had even served the Boltons food on numerous occasions. There were times then that the bastard would look up from his goblet of wine to give her a tawdry smirk, but he'd otherwise given Melody no further notice. One of the girls that she had roomed with, a pretty sort with a graceful stride and cherry lips, wasn't as lucky. That girl used to fill Ramsay's baths in the evenings, but she mysteriously disappeared one night; all that had trailed her disappearance was the bays of Ramsay's dogs howling into the moonlight. The girl was never seen again, and Melody hadn't slept well for many weeks that followed. None of the staff really had.

After the battle on the ridge had proven the Starks to be victorious in reclaiming Winterfell, Melody was relieved beyond words, but as with most of the serving staff was more than puzzled that the Bolton bastard had not been put to death in the first evening or the morning that followed. As time had went on and rumors circled, Melody found herself more and more curious as to what had transpired within the walls of the dungeon.

Often Melody's chores led her to walk past Ramsey's cell, but she'd never been brave enough to pause and look in (mostly due to the lascivious stares that Jove and Reginald would lock on any female that passed by.) Even so, rampant tales mingled about the kitchens staff and the maids alike whom had caught glimpses of Ramsay in his newly reduced state, and having been offended by the man at one juncture or another, most seemed to thoroughly enjoy his plight; (the tales were quite scandalous, but then many tales of what lords and ladies got up to often were, and most of them were exaggerated immensely Melody's mother had always warned, so she paid them no heed.) Others about the keep were spooked by the events reported in flurried waves by those that claimed they had seen debauchery at its finest. These superstitious types remarked that there was a demon that had possessed Bolton's bastard. They wove stories that an eldritch powered entity of the old gods had resided within Ramsay and had leapt into the lady of the house to continue its evil work when he'd lost Winterfell. Why else would a noble woman of House Stark behave so brutally? It was a ridiculous notion, but it didn't stop a few gullible lots from believing such tales becoming thoroughly wary of Lady Sansa now. Melody remained quiet through such discussions and avoided participating in most conversations preferring to stick to the background where she was unnoticed as the mousey girl that found it better to say nothing.

It was this quiet and unassuming nature of hers that had gotten her assigned to the task of becoming a personal servant to 'the prisoner.' The head maid had suggested to the new Stark lord that out of the many servants in the keep, Melody was trust worthy and kept her nose in her work over the business of others. She had been a good choice as far as Jon was concerned, but for Melody, the job relocation was a horrifying nightmare that she wanted no part of. She was of course too afraid to turn down the order in fear of being removed from the keep entirely for failure to obey orders.

So it was, the first day of her new detail, she was assigned to fetch Ramsay clothes for an outing with their lord; Melody had spent several minutes emptying the contents of her stomach into a mop pail before moving into the room Ramsay Bolton had previously taken up residence in to fetch the man's clothes for him. She'd been in the room before, and it had filled her with countless nightmares. She had been instructed by Roose Bolton to go into the room and pull down and discard the filth of stretched out pieces of flayed skin the bastard had hung to the wall like that of an animal's instead of a person's. She'd come near fainting then on several accounts, and she'd been thankful to never be asked to do so again. Ramsay had raged at his father, but Roose had addressed him with a weary disdain that he wouldn't have such things stinking up the keep. That was the end of the discussion, and Melody was just relieved the bastard had never discovered it was her to have been the one to remove his trophies.

Ramsay hadn't made the new position any easier on Melody by immediately berating her to return the clothes she'd brought alongside bounding menacingly towards her in a provoking manner that had her almost tumbling to the ground in her fear of him. Ramsay's eyes were lit with glee wholly amused by her skittish behavior, and when she'd departed, Melody's eyes had brimmed with tears feeling shamed to have given him such joy through her own cowardice. He was a caged monster in her eyes, so how could she not be terrified?

Her outlook on Ramsay had changed though having been in the hallway that very afternoon when Ramsay had been dragged down the hall from the library kicking and screaming obscenities. Most of the other servants had fled the awful clatter of crashing tables and decorative ceramic vases, but Melody had lingered long enough to see the lord of the manor storm back toward the dungeon from the library. Melody should have moved on scrubbing a different section of the floor away from the dungeon hallway, but her own curiosity seemed to overwhelm her. Instead of listening to reason, Melody picked up her wash pail, looked in either direction to see that no one was watching her, and followed discretely at a distance behind Jon's storming pace. She'd watched him enter the dungeon, and heart beating rapidly in her chest, Melody quickly crept to the massive iron door setting her wash pail down next to it and laid her face to the floor, so that she could observe for herself the rumors she'd heard.

What Melody saw beneath the door's frame had mystified her; her wide eyes had transfixed on Jon as he grabbed the thick stitched piece of leather from the room's elegant chair before commencing to stride with purpose over to Ramsay's side quickly tossing the blanket up to expose his intended target. She watched in awe as Ramsay's lower half revealed a score of crisscross markings on his bared ass only visible from the distance she was at due to the stark contrast of Ramsay's pale pigmentation. What struck her most then was as the lord of the house went about this action, Ramsay's expression emanated fear and a hint of resignation, he was dreading what was about to come; it was an expression she'd never seen grace the bastard's face.

Melody was snapped back to reality upon hearing Jon dismiss the guards, and flushing in embarrassment, she snatched her water pail in a haste to remove herself from the doorway. She was barely able to keep from sloshing the pail's contents on the floor as she skittered clumsily forward about ten feet and crashed down painfully onto her knees. Melody swiftly grabbed the scrub brush from the pail then and fervently began scouring away at the floor as Temeric and Cecil exited the dungeon. They sent a cursory glance her way, but otherwise they paid her no mind as they whispered to themselves seemingly shell-shocked by the events that were transpiring in the room they'd just vacated over the presence of a lowly chambermaid cleaning the floor.

Melody continued nervously scouring the same patch of floor there on her knees where she'd fallen because to get up and leave now would have been a telltale sign that she'd been spying on the lord and prisoner. She really hadn't meant to be so intrusive, but what was done was done. She guiltily remained scrubbing away at the floor working her way down the hall while her ears sharply observed lash after delivered lash. Her scouring slowed as she found herself straining to listen to the entirety of the exchange although most of what Jon had said was muffled by Ramsay's keening cries of agony once so many stinging slaps had been administered.

Being so close to what was happening had Melody's stomach trembling with uneasiness; she didn't know whether to feel sorry for the Bolton bastard or not. It wasn't as if the strapping he was receiving wasn't well deserved, (whether from current affronts or prior ones Melody contemplated inwardly) but to hear a man broken down in such a way sobbing in a gut wrenching manner that spoke of true regret was enough to send shivers down her spine. The encounter seemed to go on forever, but in actuality, it had only lasted about thirty minutes if that. Once Jon had departed the dungeon, Melody hurried through the rest of the hallway scurrying off back to her room after she'd made it far enough down the hall to no longer be in view of the guards.

Melody laid awake that night staring at the ceiling unable to think of anything else other than what she'd seen and heard in that hallway; it was an experience she'd never forget. When the morning had come, she'd went to the kettle to prepare the wash bucket with warm water for Ramsay along with fetching a washcloth and bared soap. All of her newly assigned duties she moved through as if in a swirling daze while her mind still reeled over all that she'd seen and listened to mere feet away from her the day before.

Entering the dungeon, she'd placed the pail by the small table and backed away mesmerized by Ramsay's every move as she stared at him wondering in what physical state the lord of the house had left him. She understood more than most by his jerky movements why exactly Ramsay was so stiff. It wasn't a rumor to her anymore, it was a known fact, but the truth was of course nothing like that which had circulated that morning through the staff of back lashings and harsh tortures delivered by an unforgiving lord; Melody knew from what she'd been privy to that it was nothing more than a severe bout of spanking with well-meant intention to break through to Ramsay rather than tear him down (which made the Starks much less terrifying than the Boltons Melody had decided with more than a little alleviation.) The things she'd stumbled upon without ever knowing fully what had happened while in the Bolton's stead left Melody to fear for her life, but the Starks were good people her mother had told her, and Melody decided then that she believed her mother's intuition was true.

Thinking on these contrasts between the different houses as she observed him, she realized belatedly that Ramsay was now staring back at her. Some part of Melody told her to avert her eyes, but like a moth drawn to a flame, she couldn't make herself move or look away from him. Staring at each other it was clear to her that he knew she was aware of what had happened to him, and the implied accusation left her feeling anxious and guilty… guilty until Ramsay's gaze shifted, and he glared at her his most menacing glare.

The preposterousness of the situation struck her funny that Ramsay would try to intimidate her here and now in the state he was in huddled precariously over the pail she'd brought with his furred blanket wrapped tightly around him all the while scowling at her in a blatant attempt to exude his impotent fury that she was looking at him at all. He reminded her of a petulant child, and for the first time in all the time she'd known the man, Melody no longer felt afraid of him. Ramsay's flagrant intent to terrorize her had made an opposite comical reaction bloom inside of Melody, and in its wake a smile broke across her face. When she hadn't looked away, and he did, without trying to, Ramsay had given Melody reason to shed the fear that her mother, in all her most well-meaning ways, had drilled into her. He'd let her know then on some level that he was afraid too; they all were. Melody kept that smile until she departed the dungeon, and every time after that shared moment, when Ramsay looked her way, Melody couldn't help but to smile back at him in remembrance of the strength and wisdom he'd unwittingly bore within her.

It was easier to feel brave from afar though; she'd been given a different task now that required she make physical contact with the man to give him a close shave. Melody had never imagined herself in such close proximity to him, and to make matters worse, Ramsay would only glare daggers at her in clear dislike. He was going to make her duties difficult she was more than certain, and Melody felt her confidence to remain brave in his presence now slipping.

In a nervous twitch she found herself smiling at Ramsay once more which only seemed to make Ramsay more agitated as he growled hotly, "No, not her."

Melody blinked looking to Temeric and Cecil who only seemed puzzled by Ramsay's sudden angry outburst.

"What's that? What's the matter, Ramsay?" Temeric took a step away from the post he'd settled in to look the two over to see if he could ascertain what exactly had set Ramsay off.

Ramsay never glanced Temeric's way only bristling as he stared intensely at the blonde waif fuming inwardly. She thought she was good, really good. This unassuming girl; Ramsay knew better of the wickedness that lied in other's hearts. This girl would likely 'mistakenly' slip the razor across his throat in one quick motion to enact some plotted revenge that she'd no doubt worked diligently to place herself here ripe for such an opportunity. Ramsay immediately suspected Melody capable of such machinations as he ruminated on how she'd made a point to taunt him with her patronizing smirks at every encounter. To Ramsay, her deviousness shone through like a beacon, and he was hard pressed to give her such an easy opening to end him as he spat voice raising an octave, "You don't know this girl! I am almost certain she bears me ill intent from the malicious smiles she grants me daily!" Ramsay's lips were pursed, eyes glaring accusatorily at Temeric with a condescending glower on his face that spoke he knew something Temeric obviously didn't.

Temeric looked the girl over carefully seeing nothing more than a young confused woman staring back at him; he sighed tiredly glancing back to Ramsay with a softening brow, "It's been a long day, Ramsay. You're just a bit high on nerves is all. Sit back and try to relax; Lady Sansa is awaiting your arrival once you're finished here, and she's eager for your company as you are hers. Besides, there's two of us here with you, what do you think this servant girl is going to do exactly?"

Said like that, the threat seemed a bit overzealous to assume so much of this girl's capabilities and that she had that much gall; Ramsay switched gears and gave Temeric a depreciating smile, "Of course; you're right. Let's not keep Lady Sansa waiting." Moving casually over to the chair, Ramsay eased into the seat and leaned back slowly all the while keeping his eyes squarely planted on Melody in an attempt to measure her intent more fully. He laid an elbow on each chair arm leaving his hands to clasp neatly across his chest as his lip crested up into a sly grin. Ramsay prompted jovially, "Well then, let's get on with it shall we servant girl?"

Ramsay did his best to look relaxed, but his muscles were coiled and ready to react like that of snake waiting to strike. He didn't trust this girl like he did his Reek or Sansa, and after recent events where he had wished for death, that was no longer the case now. Ramsay was wary; he'd seen this girl prior to his loss of the keep, but he'd never paid her much heed, so he knew nothing about her or her possible intentions. Ramsay was regretting that now as his stomach churned and his mind whirred to devise why exactly this girl could have it out for him. Perhaps she just wanted to see him suffer like many did and failed to see come to fruition, or maybe she just outwardly took joy in his misery, but the real question he needed to discern was, was this girl a killer?

This display of aggression on Ramsay's part caught Melody off guard, and Melody wavered in her steps to proceed looking from the guards back to Ramsay noting that his smile only seemed to grow from her apparent lack of conviction. Ramsay knew then, this girl was no killer; she was too afraid of the world to take such a bold stance. No, she was just like all the rest of them, a scared rabbit ready to dart back in her burrow and hide only willing to mock him when he had no leverage to prevent it. Ramsay's smile now broadened feeling rather confident that he'd pegged her character.

For Melody, it was as if every step she took towards Ramsay the fear she'd seemingly conquered returned and amplified; he was eyeing her carefully drinking in her anxiety as she fumbled with the basket to set it on the slate embedded on the chair's side to hold such supplies. Their eyes were now locked, and Melody worked to swallow down the uneasiness she felt. It was just a shave after all, why was she feeling so nervous all of a sudden? She knew why, being so close to that which she feared caused a lurching through the entirety of her being that she could not explain. She wanted to be brave, so badly she wanted to combat these feelings of terror that seemed to overwhelm her like a tidal wave, but standing here beside Ramsay now with his irretraceable glare penetrating her core, some part of herself had to admit defeat and retreat into the recesses of her mind.

She looked away, and Ramsay chuckled lightly whispering derisively, "A close shave girl. You wouldn't want to disappoint me would you?"

Melody's eyes flicked back to his seeing Ramsay wore a cocky grin as she nodded meekly biting her lip in apprehension. She wasn't sure how she had buckled so knowing the position Ramsay was in now; he was no longer a lord of the keep, but Ramsay still intimidated Melody to comply readily with his implied demand. Ramsay's assuredness that she would made Melody want to proceed quickly with the intended task if for nothing more than to get it over and remove herself from his presence. Melody did as she was expected to do; she always did, and throughout her careful application (terrified as she was) Melody did indeed apply a close, well done, shave.

Melody did her best not to look Ramsay in the eye as she'd worked to complete the job (even though she'd felt his eyes throughout the entirety of his shave boring into her. If his stare could have burned, Melody would have sworn she would have caught fire.) Ramsay surveyed her with an entertained leer that made Melody sick to behold. He was getting great pleasure from her lack of courage to do anything more than comply.

She'd fooled herself once more, she wasn't very brave after all. Being faced with the source of her fear, Melody crumpled into the pathetic creature she'd always known herself to be. Ramsay saw her weakness immediately and relished Melody's reticence remarking as he leaned closer running his hand slowly over the completed shave, "Very good, girl. You're quite useful after all it would seem. I think I will look forward to you servicing my needs again very soon," his words were lined with honeyed amusement, but there was an undercurrent that lingered over Ramsay's statement, an imperceptible threat to those not caught within close proximity, but well felt by Melody. He was daring her now, and in response Melody simply shrank away from him taking two steps backwards.

She was more than grateful to have quickly finished the task, and Ramsay's words now echoed through her as a further mark of gluttony for ridicule by him. She didn't respond only continuing to stare at the floor, and Ramsay feeling vindicated to some degree by her demure behavior turned a swaggering smile and a chuckle back to Temeric, "It would seem I was wrong about this servant girl," his eyes drifted casually back to Melody letting his smirk linger on her, "She's obviously quite harmless. I'm ready to be reunited with my lovely wife; we should be off." Sansa had used the term husband earlier, so Ramsay felt confident to display the title now as he stared condescendingly at Melody if for no other reason than to implant the suggestion that he was worth more than her to still carry such a title.

Melody lacked self-esteem, so her eyes never rose to meet Ramsay's challenge, but her ears burned with the light mocking snicker he afforded her as he turned striding confidently away. Melody remained passively where she stood as the two guards lead Ramsay out of the dungeon. Once the dungeon door clanged shut, and she was alone again, Melody pulled back a sob feeling chagrinned that she'd ever assumed herself to be pluckier than what she'd always been; she was nothing more than a scared lost little girl in a world where she was sorely outmatched by those around her. The quicker she embraced this fact, the better off she would be.


	27. Unsettled

The next chapter will contain all the steamy bits, but this one leaves off for a nice lead up (I hope! More to come soon! =D)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Unsettled

Ramsay wore a brimming grin as he was guided to Sansa's chambers. It was hard not to be elated having the worries of a conflict with the Umbers fall to the backdrop of his mind, to know Sansa was home safe happily awaiting his presence, and to top it off by putting the servant wench who dared taunt him back in her proper place. It had been far too long since he'd felt that thrill of dominance over another, and in some ways a part of him shifted internally to reclaim just a little bit of power from anyone; it was uplifting for Ramsay not to feel like he was the lowest rung on the totem pole. His euphoric feeling of triumph didn't last long as the sinking remembrance of his quandary returned to Ramsay upon reaching the top of the tower stairs where the vision of the grand master bedroom was well lit with candlelight through the open door awaiting his arrival. To be brought here like this, it was a reminder that he had absolutely no control anymore; it was worse than the restrictions that being a bastard had put on him (which he'd thought were rather demeaning and infuriating then) but of course he'd never known what it truly was to be humbled as he did now.

This wasn't the first time Ramsay had seen this room. He'd occupied it prior to the battle albeit not long enough to have had all of his possessions moved in to take up full residence. His father before him along with his fat Frey wife had also inhabited the room, and remnants still lingered such as an elegant tapestry of a flying hawk soaring above a forested ridge. It covered a large portion of the wall over the fireplace; that same drapery had hung in Roose's personal study at the Dreadfort as one of his prized possessions due to its intricacy and the fact some pompous well known artist in King's Landing had made it specifically for him. Roose had told Ramsay while admiring it one day that it reminded him that to rise above all standing obstacles gave way to insight and that until one did, they could never see clearly the path in front of them.

Ramsay had rolled his eyes at his father's back sneering in contempt as he immediately compartmentalized the old man's prophetic lecture to be more of the same gibberish that Maester Medrick often spouted. It wasn't until he'd killed his father and became lord of the castle did the textile and his father's reverence of it hold any meaning to him. To Ramsay, the picture had always reminded him of a hunting predator on a clear day (a much more simple and appropriate context to Ramsay and one he personally enjoyed envisioning as a sign of power over prey), so he'd not bothered to remove it, nor had Sansa apparently for whatever reason. To see it now sent a shiver up his spine; it was a weighty recollection that bore down upon him its significance. Suddenly his father's words regarding the wall-hanging came back to him putting in perspective once more what place in the world he now held; Ramsay finally saw the meaning his father had meant to depart to him clearly; it was of course, too little too late.

Ramsay's thoughts altered as his eyes drifted away from the tapestry and over to Sansa taking in the fact she only wore a loose robe and a barely veiled grin. The look of her in such a state caused Ramsay's cock to jump to half-mast with desire; she was ever the beauty with fiery thin spirals of hair escaping her tightly bound braided bun to waft about her neck in an unruly display. To set eyes on her now seemed to capture Ramsay and funnel him into a distant place seeded deep within his mind's eye where every step closer she took, it was if she scattered his thoughts like a shattered mirror, and the fragmented pieces he knew only she could put back together.

Her half lidded gaze poured over Ramsay noting the want for her he held; Sansa's lip twisted into a sultry smile to observe his avarice. Ramsay had looked at her in a similar fashion prior to their wedding night except now there was a distinct hesitation that remained about him and reminded her of a begging dog beneath the table. It was an apt comparison Sansa supposed since she had brought him to heel from the wild beast he had been into the man that stood before her.

Ramsay was still a work in progress, but he was hers to mold. The clay she was working with had started out hard and impenetrable like stone, but having etched away at him long enough, Sansa had managed to crack through Ramsay's barriers to find something far more pliable than she'd ever imagined. There was a person beneath the callousness and cruelty that had been the ever present exterior of Ramsay, and if Sansa hadn't seen it for herself, she never would have believed such a thing possible. The irony that she found herself curious enough to dig deeper had started only as a want to destroy him further, but when she discovered something worth saving and nurturing, Ramsay's salvation bloomed into a personal crusade.

Sansa had not told Ramsay as much, but his ability to show he was willing to change for her and wanted to just to gain her affections teemed a deep seeded hope and pride within her that she could have awaken such a thing in him of all people. She dared not speak it aloud and make real her feelings lest she open her heart to Ramsay and he betray her fragile trust. Sansa still questioned her ability to read Ramsay even if her gut told her what she was feeling for him and he for her was true; even so, it was difficult to easily let go of so much pain he'd caused her; the wounds were still so fresh, but they no longer festered, and that was a start.

Sansa turned to the guards as she nodded, "Thank you for bringing Ramsay to me; you may stand outside the door now."

Temeric and Cecil quickly nodded ascent to their Lady's command and backed out of the room shutting the door behind them without further word.

Sansa sauntered over to run a hand across Ramsay's freshly shaved chin, "That's more like it," she cooed, "I want to always see you well-groomed for me." As if on cue, her hand connecting to his skin sent an immediate shock of adrenaline to pulse through Ramsay, and he inhaled deeply in an almost instinctual manner to take in her scent. Sansa drew her hand down to cup his chin running her thumb lightly over his parting lips. They were warm, soft, and supple bringing forth immediate visual memories of all that she'd seen his mouth do when she had set him to the task of pleasing her. Sansa wanted to taste those lips now, and found herself pulling him forward by the chin as she leaned in closely with eyes staring into his to plant a gentle kiss on his awaiting lips. Pulling him forcibly towards her, Ramsay's breathing had quickened and his eyes widened, but he in no way resisted her, and that complacence to let Sansa do as she would with him ricocheted a swell of heat to bloom between her thighs. It was just the two of them here, and she'd spent too many nights since she'd left Winterfell thinking about having Ramsay all to herself once more.

The adrenaline just to get back to the keep and address the dangers that could have befallen her home had depleted Sansa, but the confrontation had left something else to reside within her that now craved satisfaction. Her lips pressed into his roughly now, and Ramsay let go of a small moan filled of his own desire for her attentions. The sound echoed through her and created a surge of want within Sansa to rip Ramsay's clothes from him, throw him on her bed, and shove her glass cock into herself and then powerfully into him. This image dominated her mind to an extent Sansa felt the need to pull away from Ramsay suddenly with a gasp. He had closed his eyes under the torrent of her passionate kissing, and when she'd broken away from him, his eyes fluttered open questioning why she'd stopped although he only remained silently observant.

Sansa grinned lustfully at the innocence reflected in his stare; her eyes grazing over Ramsay once more before untying her robe and letting the silken fabric slip from her shoulders to reveal her body to him. She watched Ramsay's throat bob as he swallowed, and his eyes roved over her curves to take in every inch of her exposed flesh. Her smile broadened as she instructed, "Come Ramsay; it's time for you to bathe me, and then I shall have a turn bathing you." Sansa padded towards the section of the room that housed the double bath letting the robe spill to the floor as she walked.

Ramsay's erection pressed painfully against the front of his pants and feeling suddenly very aware of himself, his hands moved to cover the bulge. He spun around finding himself just staring after Sansa watching her beautiful form traverse the expanse of the room before belatedly realizing he was still standing where she'd left him. He staggered into motion quickly making up the distance between them as Sansa climbed gracefully into the tub lowering herself to emerge in the steaming waters slowly with a sigh of relief. Her eyes flicked up to take Ramsay in as he wore a thunderstruck expression, cool blue eyes locked on her heaving breasts. Sansa inhaled deeply leaning against the large wooden frame of the ornate tub as she pointed to the bathing brushes, sea sponges, and salted scrubs that lay within an inline of the tub's design, "Look there, Ramsay. All the supplies that you should need; the pitcher of fresh water lay on the floor by the stool."

Blinking in recognition of what she had expected him to do, Ramsay's eyes moved away from Sansa's figure to take in all that she was referring to. Sansa observed him begin to roll his sleeves up to perform the given task, and she interrupted, "No," Ramsay halted in his action looking back at her in surprise, "Take it off."

He paused taking in her words before pulling the shirt free from himself and letting it drop unceremoniously to the stone floor. Ramsay found his muscles ripple as he flexed in a preening fashion before stepping towards the stool. Her voice rang out again in a more authoritative manner, "All of it. You see me fully bared, and I wish the same, to take in the sight of your nakedness for my own pleasure."

This statement caused another hesitation in Ramsay before a quirky grin spread across his face as a pang of further arousal flooded through him. His thoughts turned to where his and her mutual nudity may lead. They were to bathe one another, but she wanted to see his body as he did so. Ramsay could feel Sansa's sexual energy pulsing off of her like rays of the sun. His own member was pulsating in a similar fashion protruding from him and hard as a rock. Ramsay pulled the tie to release the hold his breeches had on his hips sending his pants to pool at his ankles, and his cock, more than ready to be of use, bobbed its eagerness.

Ramsay's smile grew as he took a strutting step forward and raised both arms to each side stating confidently, "Does this please my lady?" Intercourse with him taking her was an avenue the two had yet to explore again, but Ramsay felt assured not only from the fact that Sansa had brought him here, her personal bed chambers, but that she also had no restraints to limit him and no guard to monitor their tryst; tonight would be far different than any night they'd shared previously. The encounter with Melody shortly before had bolstered Ramsay's more sexually aggressive side, and with the way that Sansa had kissed him only moments before, Ramsay had more than high hopes of taking his lady to bed in a more traditional sense once their bath had concluded. This time he would be gentle with her; this time he would treat her as the noble woman she'd proved to him to be.

Sansa's smile turned devious as she replied, "It does; it will please me more for you to turn about so that I may take in the whole of you." Ramsay let out an amused chuckle moving himself in a parading circle, "As the lady wishes." As he rotated, Ramsay's mind flourished mental images of entering her in swift even thrusts to a symphony of the pleasurable moans he'd heard erupt from Sansa when she'd orgasmed with him before. His enthusiastic visions of love making were ripped from him in a halting mental screech by the angry tone that Sansa exclaimed with, "What's this? You've marks upon your ass that are far too numerous and fresh to be by my previous application. Were you troublesome enough for my brother to have had need to punish you in my absence?"

Ramsay's body slackened from the cocky stance he had been holding as he peered warily over his shoulder at her; his mouth parted to answer, but nothing came out. At a loss for words, his jaw clenched in dread as her query sent a wash of worry to shock through him making his cock deflate instantaneously. In his own sexual desire, Ramsay had forgotten the bruises he still sported from Jon's last heavy-handed strapping. The pain was gone, and it was only on rare occasions when he'd slumped heavily into his chair did a slight pang of tenderness give Ramsay recognition that there was still any evidence remaining that it had transpired at all. His pale flesh on the other hand told a very different account holding the imprints of faded lines here and there where the strap had etched a lasting impression into his skin. To Ramsay's credit, it had been a few days after Sansa's departure and a little over a week prior to her return since the incident had occurred, and for Ramsay, the slow crawl that his days had turned into, a week ago seemed quite a bit longer than it actually was. It honestly hadn't occurred to Ramsay that Sansa would not have already spoken to Jon and garnered such information already. In part, he'd assumed that her knowing and still being slightly miffed was the reasoning for her brusque response regarding his questions about the Umbers when they'd first been reunited in the dungeon.

Sansa sat up rigidly, and before Ramsay could dally further with his response to her question, she clipped out, "I see. That's unfortunate, Ramsay. I had hoped for us to share a pleasant evening together after hearing Jon speak so highly of your progress while I was away. Now I will have to punish you for your disobedience."

Ramsay felt a lump forming in his throat as he dipped his head losing eye contact from the immediate shame he now felt run through him. The knowledge that Jon had only said good things about him to Sansa made his chest tighten in appreciation that the man had been kind enough to have given him such a good report regardless of the misery he'd originally caused him at the onset of their budding relationship. Ramsay found himself flushing in heated embarrassment as he rotated back to face his ass away from Sansa's purview (as if taking the evidence of what she'd already seen out of sight would somehow make her un-see it.) Her implied threat had goosebumps ripple across his skin and a sinking feeling build in his gut immediately fearing what punishment would arise from his insubordination. Sansa had been kind to him their past few encounters, but this did not erase how unkind she could be.

His stomach tightened to think on what she had done to get him in line already, and Ramsay found his thoughts tumbling over the worst possibilities now as his eyes drifted up to meet hers carrying a silent apprehension. He heard the words come out of his mouth in a defensive blur before he'd realized he'd shouted them, "It's… Jon addressed my transgressions against him already. For him not to have reported it to you shows he's forgiven me! Can we not just put this behind us as well? There's no need to rehash what has already been worked out between he and I is there?" It sounded justifiable to his own ears, but the glare she penetrated him with made Ramsay wish that he'd just remained silent.

Sansa fumed for long minutes just staring angrily at Ramsay; he stiffened in response straightening rigidly to clasp his hands in front of him like a soldier coming to attention except her ire left him to look elsewhere as his head slumped and his eyes bore into the floor to occasionally flick up nervously and take her expression in before lowering his gaze once more. She could tell her fury had Ramsay frightened, and a small part of her wanted to see that reaction in him, but another part of her didn't want to ruin the entirety of their evening either. She sighed heavily, "I gave you fair warning what I expected from you, and your disappointing behavior I will take you to task for, but it is something we can address later. For now, let's appreciate the relaxation of a hot bath together."

Swirling banter to come back at Sansa on unfair expectations under the conditions he was being forced to endure formulated in his mind, but seeing Sansa was not in a hurry to punish him, Ramsay steeled himself to try and calculate a more tactful approach to avoid any more horrible pain and suffering. His nervousness displayed itself in Ramsay's jerky movements as his hands grasped the stool fumbling it into place beside the tub. He quickly plucked one of the sea sponges from the inline brow drawing down in contemplative thought as his eyes darted about the supplies. A small frown embedded itself on his face unable not to think on the looming threat as he stared back hotly at Sansa, "I've suffered for what I did; why must you make me do so again? You're beating a dead horse!"

Sansa took in the fact that Ramsay's knee shook violently as his fingers kneaded into the sponge to a point that if it were alive, he would have squeezed the life out of it. She laid a hand on his knee, and Ramsay instantly stopped his nervous twitch fixing her with a pout that was a mix of anxiety, resentment, and uncertainty. Sansa only remained staring at Ramsay silently until she was sure that she had his full attention before she began again, "I can't let go the fact that you defied my wishes, Ramsay. It's not what you were punished for that I find a need to discipline you for now but the fact that it had to happen at all. I've only been gone for ten days! You couldn't keep yourself in check, with Jon of all people, for less than two weeks? You've embarrassed me, and I intend to repay you in kind."

Ramsay's body undulated taking in Sansa's statement; Sansa watched him progress through the internal motions of processing her words, and when he'd opened his mouth to protest further, Sansa stood as she interjected sharply, "This isn't up for further discussion, Ramsay, unless you wish for me attend you now! I assure you my wrath for interrupting what could be a most enjoyable bath shared by the two of us will be far worse than if you let me simmer my annoyance away in the heat of these waters below. It's your choice, which do you prefer, Ramsay?"

Ramsay's eyes widened and his mouth parted in awe to take her in the sudden swell of fear that she erected in him. What had he been about to say? The argument was lost to the wind as he took in her dark glare descending powerfully down on him. To enrage her was definitely not what he wished, and the thought of a nice hot bath with her bathing him after he'd had the chance to run his own hands over her body sounded a much better alternative to a compounded punishment, so Ramsay found himself numbly shaking his head no, "I'd… I'd rather not…" Ramsay's mouth clamped closed, and he turned away from her demanding gaze before continuing, "The bath. I wish for us… please, we can continue as we were."

Sansa was satisfied that Ramsay had stopped resisting her; she'd grown worried that the direction their conversation had been headed that she was going to have to make a point of her authority over him if for nothing more than to ensure her own safety with him. Ramsay was still a dangerous man, and if he smelled weakness in her, this journey they were taking could be easily derailed. He needed to continue to respect her, and unfortunately that encompassed a healthy dose of fear for reprisal of poor behavior. Ramsay hadn't looked up since his last statement seemingly subdued by her threat, so Sansa quietly lowered herself back into the bath waters.

She didn't like seeing Ramsay so obviously conflicted and prodded gently, "I've been looking forward to sharing this bath with you. If you like, you can climb in the tub with me now. I'd like it if we could mutually enjoy each other in close proximity; this bathtub was made for two after all, so there's really no need for you to bathe me from outside of it. Would you like to join me, Ramsay?"

Ramsay did want to join her, but some part of him wanted to tell her to go fuck herself too. His eyes lifted, and he did not see a jeering smirk to which his pride had convinced him would be present; instead, Ramsay took in the concern for him that radiated from her person. She cared for him, to feel that now sent a jolt of turmoil to once again question his own burgeoning sentiments he couldn't help but to feel for Sansa. He wanted her in all ways, ways he'd never wanted to share with another person and was terrified to share now. Ramsay shook his head yes, and a blooming desire coursed through him when her smiled broadened sweetly to his agreeance of her request.

Sansa rose to her knees small rivulets of water spattering to the floor as she leaned over to grab the bathing supplies and line them along the bath's edge. As she did this, Ramsay stood from the stool and carefully maneuvered into the tub lowering himself to sit across from her. He let go a contented groan as he sank into the tub's depths; washing one's self with a bucket and a rag was in no way comparable to the enjoyable sensation of being enveloped in a pool of water hot enough to numb the flesh and loosen the muscles. Ramsay sat back against the sanded headboard and Sansa joined him as both just soaked silently for a few moments enjoying the relaxation such an experience permitted. Even if what was to come would be unpleasant, Ramsay decided that at least now he could relish the present.


	28. Granted

So I'm really on a roll this weekend! Three chapter updates back to back! Yay! =D *beams* They are shorter chapters, but I hope they are still a good injection... wow, it's 2AM, and work looms ever near in 3.5 hours *pout* Do enjoy guys, and if it pleases you, do give me some comment love as I am quite the comment whore! LOL! XD

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Granted

Ramsay found his eyes closing letting out a long exhale as he tried to unwind, but he couldn't stop his mind from racing over the knowledge that his belief on how the night would proceed was in no way going according to what he'd hoped and imagined. Why should he have ever expected as much? He groused inwardly, it wasn't as if he'd ever gotten what he wanted on his terms, they were always on Sansa's terms now; it was the fate he'd been given after his sorrowful defeat. His thoughts turned ever bitter as he silently continued to brood feeling a mix of unhappiness and self-pity. It was hard not to feel sorry for himself knowing that following what should have been a wonderful exploration of one another's bodies turned into a pending sentence looming overhead. Ramsay wanted to set these emotions aside and enjoy his time here and now, but the very idea of what was to come was niggling at him to a point he could think of nothing else.

Sansa must have taken note of the sour look he held as he felt her take hold of his ankle giving him a rough tug that had Ramsay gasp, eyes flaring open in surprise, as both arms flailed to grab the sides of the tub to make sure the force of her yank didn't pull him under water. Sansa stated tightly, "Stop it."

Ramsay's eyebrows knitted together as he gave Sansa an incredulous glare, "What? I wasn't doing anything!" Sansa fixed him with a glare of her own clipping back, "You know very well what I'm referring to; you're sitting over there all doom and gloom as if you hadn't brought this on yourself, Ramsay. If you feel no contrition than I'll have to doubly ensure that you do. I have already told you that if you cannot let it go so that we may enjoy ourselves here and now, then perhaps I need to take care of your punishment first."

Sansa clasped the edges of the tub orienting herself to rise, and as she began lifting herself from the waters, Ramsay's hand shot out to clutch her wrist as he cried out, "No!" His eyes had grown feral and anxious, and realizing he had a hold over her wrist, and she was staring down at him dangerously, Ramsay retracted his hand as if her flesh had burned him, "I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you!" His stare was imploring her to halt, and Sansa found herself heeding to the vulnerability that she saw within his expression. Ramsay continued hurriedly having gotten her full attention, "I'm having a hard time relaxing knowing you've plans to harm me right after any pleasure we share!"

"Hurt you, yes, but I'll not harm you," Sansa interjected, and Ramsay's expression turned from apprehensive to puzzled as he shouted, "What's the difference?" Sansa used the leverage she held on the sides of the tub to drift her body closer to Ramsay's landing her knees on either side of his inner thighs as Ramsay involuntarily scuttled backwards to press his frame up fully against the tub's back clinging to the walls tightly as she continued to bring her face nearer. She walked her knees forward securing Ramsay in place before releasing her own hold on the sides of the tub. She leaned forward cupping his face gently on either side of his jaw to draw Ramsay closer until their faces were inches apart.

Ramsay shifted jerkily wholly unsure of what his mild defiance may have cost him; her advancement worried him now that she may be becoming increasingly peeved with his recent boldness which didn't bode well for him Ramsay was sure. What did her statement even mean? Her terminology landed upon his ears like that of a foreign language. To Ramsay, pain and suffering were all a part of the same dynamic, and this bleeding line of care interlaced with giving pain still threw him for a mental loop. When he looked into Sansa's eyes, they were unreadable other than to compare her to a predator cornering its prey, but that was more the impression Ramsay comprehended over any particular expression she gave. Sansa wasn't lashing out against him or giving Ramsay a cruel smirk to taunt him further, instead she kissed his forehead lightly stating in a half whisper, "It makes all the difference, Ramsay."

Ramsay felt himself calming slightly given the melodious tone she spoke with alongside her soft hands centering his focus on her, but it did not drive away the sinking feeling in his gut that he would still be facing something highly unpleasant in the near future, and in need to vent this frustration he now moped turning his face to look away from Sansa's penetrating gaze, "I don't see there being much difference in it. It leads to the same ends where I suffer by your design."

Sansa assured, "It will be no more than a spanking by my hand alone, no strap unless you continue to be obstinate," Ramsay shifted his sights up to glower his disapproval which lent to a soft chuckle from Sansa due to the fact Ramsay was effectively sulking now. Her lip curled into a soft grin, "You know you're awfully cute when you pout."

Ramsay's scowl deepened as he stated defensively, "I'm not pouting, I'm displeased." Sansa's smile widened at Ramsay's increasing annoyance, "Yes, I can see that." Her hands held his face more firmly, "Now it's time to get over it," Sansa stated sternly as she took on a more serious expression raising her brow to denote she expected his compliance, "Are we clear?"

His lip twitched cautiously as Ramsay plainly caught the shift in Sansa's demeanor, and not wishing to make things worse on himself than a simple spanking, he reluctantly nodded. Sansa seemed to visibly relax upon his evident agreement as she pulled his lips to hers kissing Ramsay fully on the mouth. Coming up for air several kisses later she breathed out a husky, "Good, Ramsay. There's much I wish to do to you before and much after." Her hands swept down the length of his back pulling Ramsay up to meet her as Sansa walked her knees forward further to send Ramsay's legs out to drift on to either side of her hips bringing their groins flush together as she gently laid Ramsay back against the sloping head board.

Caught in the rapture of Sansa's sexual energy Ramsay found himself growing hard again feeling her taut body colliding with his as her mound rubbed against his shaft and balls causing the waters to rush around them in lapping waves to their rocking bodies. Her hard nipples brushed across his chest with every sway, and Ramsay desperately fought the urge to pull Sansa aggressively to him. Ramsay let out a small whimper of want, and Sansa answered his plea by pushing herself more powerfully against him. All the water between them vacated leaving their figures to meld into one another in a gyrating furious rotation of shared passion.

Sansa's hand wound possessively into Ramsay's hair connecting to the nape of his neck to haul him to her hungry mouth with lips swollen from the voracious kisses she placed eagerly upon him. She left Ramsay in a fever of desire heady and needy for all that Sansa would give him. Every planted kiss riled a deep seeded craving to define the depths of coming closer to mutual climax. Ramsay moaned in pleasure as Sansa's hand moved down the curvature of his ribs wrenching at his side to slip further down Ramsay's lithe form to grasp his hip and pull his small frame up against her abdomen placing him effectively to sit on her lap. Ramsay found himself jerking his cock against her soft belly enjoying the medium of the water mixed with the pressure of their two bodies flattened tightly to the other; it created a unique friction that felt like penetration. Sansa's hand braced at the small of Ramsay's back slowly inching down to clasp his ass, and it was then that Ramsay's eyes shot open in alarm.

Sansa's undertakings never wavered though as she pulled Ramsay tighter to her continuing the same erotic grinding motion against his pelvis. Ramsay stiffened in her arms his erection going flaccid as her fingers made their way to slide down the crevice of his ass and to his defenseless opening. She had Ramsay raised and spread in a manner that now gave Sansa easy access to plunge her fingers into him, and at the angle he was positioned, back arched and legs on either side of her planted knees, Ramsay had no way to physically resist her if she wanted to take him in such a way.

Her fingers stroked his sensitive rim in a gentle fashion as Sansa cooed in a sultry manner, "I can tell the swelling has gone down. I was really hoping you'd be healed for me upon my return. I've touched myself thinking of you being fit to handle my desires."

A culminating dread coursed through Ramsay to hear the avarice Sansa rasped out as she continued to roughly pull his frame into hers in a note of her burgeoning excitement to have him in this way. Sansa's forefinger pushed solidly against his entrance to a point that Ramsay could feel her finger embedding in enough to feel uncomfortable, she wasn't going to stop, and then it happened, her finger breeched the safety of the outer perimeter to actually penetrate him. Ramsay whimpered again, but this time it was not with desire but distress, "No please, Sansa!" He didn't know what more to say to get across his trepidation of how what she was doing to him made him feel.

Sansa was ravenous though, and her voice took on a different timbre in her unadulterated excitement of what she was doing to Ramsay. "Calm yourself, Ramsay," her finger wormed deeper into him as she murmured, "I will give you pleasure to, but I need you to give yourself to me now."

He whined pitiably, "I can't! Please! Not like this!" Ramsay didn't know why, but for Sansa to violate him this way shook him to his core, and he felt instantly on the verge of tears. Hearing the warble in his voice, Sansa stilled in alarm, retracted her finger from him quickly, and squeezed Ramsay to her as a rush of guilt enveloped her. Sansa soothed, "It's okay; I'm… I'm sorry."

Her words were not helping Ramsay to keep his composure as he sucked in a breath feeling weak and degenerate by her immediate coddling but unwilling to retreat from it either. Ramsay couldn't bring himself to speak, but he found himself needing reassurance and seeking her comfort by allowing her to just hold him while he leaned his head into her chest. Ramsay fought back the urge to cry as images and sensations of that awful night she'd had him raped several times over flashed a cold wash of detachment and loss of control through him. That wasn't happening now! His mind chided him, but something within what Sansa had done, holding him where he'd been helpless to stop her followed by her forcing herself inside him, had triggered that memory in Ramsay making him instantly a psychological mess.

Sansa felt him shudder in her grasp and though he did not cry, she felt his mental anguish all the same. She whispered in hurried breaths, "I'm sorry, Ramsay, I'm sorry! I should have asked if you were ready. Please, forgive me!" Sansa clutched Ramsay understanding fully from having been a rape victim herself what she'd just done to him by the way that he'd reacted; her chest heaved deeply as tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. How could she do this to him? She knew better, but she let her own sexual desires culminate past the breaking point of rationality to recklessly do what she thought she was strong enough to control. She had been wrong.

Hearing Sansa profusely apologize had Ramsay grow numb in indecision, He hadn't expected her to stop even though deep down he knew she now cared for him. Why wouldn't he expect her to stop? She held off when he'd been hurting as a courtesy, but that was no longer the case. Physically he could take whatever she chose to give. That was a quandary that left Ramsay to silently ponder, but more so what weighed on him now was that Sansa had stopped. She heard him, she heard his call for clemency and without hesitation granted it to him; more so she apologized for hurting him after having done it signifying she hadn't done so on purpose. Ramsay closed his eyes tightly working through what this revelation meant to him, and when he'd decided, he murmured, "It's okay." Ramsay brought his face away from her chest to stare up pointedly into Sansa's frantic tear-filled eyes, and her concern filled him with a spreading warmth as he reached up to place his own hand gently against Sansa's cheek, "You're okay… we're okay."

Ramsay found himself smiling at her, and Sansa's face still held a mixture of worry and remorse as she choked back a grateful sob drawing him closer to impart the tightest hug that they'd ever shared. Ramsay found himself disquieted by the strength that she held him to her, and to feel this side of her made him slacken in her grip letting go a sigh of comfort. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but to have Sansa show him such a deep affection pulled at something within him that made him feel something he'd never felt before. Ramsay couldn't put his finger on it, but whatever it was, it felt safe and profoundly satisfying.

They remained this way for some time before Ramsay swallowed nervously stating something never in a million years he thought would leave his lips, "You… you can do it, just… just take it slow okay?" Sansa blinked letting Ramsay loose enough from her hold that she was able to take in his face once more. His eyes stared back at her seriously, and her heart beat furiously in her chest as her own eyes searched his face as if she'd heard him wrong, "Are you sure?" Sansa asked timidly, and Ramsay gave a sardonic chuckle, "Of course not, but I'll do it anyway… for you."

Ramsay's willingness to give this to her sent a wave of electricity through Sansa, and she shot forward to crush her lips into his almost painfully before retracting to place a flurry of butterfly kisses on both cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and his forehead. Ramsay laughed under the onslaught of her tenderness beaming from within and soaking up every bit of affection Sansa requited upon him for his generous offer. Ramsay still was in shock that he'd agreed to as much, but some part of him just wanted to make Sansa happy. If Sansa would continue to display such avid adoration upon him as she did now, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

Ramsay gulped nervously as he felt Sansa lay him back against the head rest; his eyes never left Sansa's face as she carefully maneuvered each of his legs to drape over the tub's edges. This left Ramsay wholly exposed, propped in front of her where Sansa could easily gain access to what she wished to take from him. He let out a long stilted breath, thinking of what was to come next; it wasn't any easier now having given her permission Ramsay realized as he was still rather uncomfortable with the idea of being penetrated. Ramsay knew that Sansa could take him in this way regardless of his given authorization (she had told him before she had left on her journey that she planned to have him this way for her pleasure when he'd healed) but the fact that she wanted his consent knowing he very well could have denied her now meant far more to him than she could know. She was giving him a choice, one of the first ones he'd been granted in their sexual explorations since he'd become hers; he truly was hers, and the truth of the matter was that he now wanted to be hers.

This dawning realization struck a chord in Ramsay as Sansa's hands stroked down the length of his thighs to brush feather like caresses across his balls and shaft. Every motion she made with her artful fingertips over his member sent an erotic shiver to cascade into his core. Ramsay grew stiff quickly under her ministrations bobbing frustratingly as he became more aroused. He wanted to cum so badly, and Sansa was touching him in the most provocative manner drawing his face flush with desire. Her hands moved from his cock around his thighs and down the curvature of his ass as Ramsay whimpered his disapproval staring down into the waters but unable to see what she was doing to him over to just feel it.

Sansa's hands glided down placing her thumbs on his entrance, and Ramsay shivered looking to the ceiling and trying his best to allow his body to stop tensing. Sansa didn't push any of her digits into him as Ramsay had expected and instead continued to lightly rub at the very sensitive skin there in a delicate fashion. Ramsay found himself clenching involuntarily as Sansa did this (even though clamping would afford him no beneficial restriction to an incursion with the way that he was placed spread before Sansa) but the more she stroked him in rapid succession trailing up under and over his balls with every caress, Ramsay found himself lost in the pleasurable sensation massaging his rectum was causing. Sansa was attentive seeing the slight gyrations and tremors her touches were causing and moved one hand back to pulling at his length while the other remained brushing against his opening until she'd timed them together perfectly as Ramsay's body jerked in conjunction to her rhythm.

Ramsay groaned working his cock in her hand furiously and barely registered that her thumb now pressed more directly against his asshole moving in rapid circles that continued to stimulate the nerve endings. Sansa pushed a little harder little by little until she broke through the outer wall to pierce him internally sending Ramsay's eyes to flutter open and a choked wheeze to escape his throat. His erection began to slacken, but Sansa picked up her speed bringing him back up in mere moments. She maneuvered her thumb in a sweeping side to side motion within him gently prodding forward until her whole thumb was inserted deeply as she rotated it exploring Ramsay in an intimate fashion that left him keening from both her hands simultaneous manipulations both inside him and to his wanting cock. His balls tightened, and the blood rushed to his face as Ramsay screamed out his orgasm in a guttural declaration of ecstasy.

Ramsay's eyes were staring widely at the ceiling panting as the ebbing euphoria faded, and Sansa slowly removed her thumb from inside of him. He shuddered absently feeling her hand still softly massaging his now growing flaccid member. His eyes shot down to see his chest was spattered with his own seed; he'd came hard, harder than he'd ever remembered. Ramsay's gaze lifted to Sansa's triumphant grin, and he found himself flushing in shame as he looked away quickly to stare into the tub's waters. He had climaxed while she did that to him… Ramsay didn't know how to feel about that other than that some part of him that he hadn't realized could be taken from him had.

Sansa tenderly pulled each leg back into the warmth of the tub, and Ramsay grunted suddenly feeling the stiffness being contorted in such a fashion had brought upon him as he once more shifted his body alongside the back of the tub letting himself slump wearily against its frame. Sansa drew her hand up to take his chin in hand and gently pulled his gaze up to hers. "Thank you, Ramsay. You don't know how what you've given me this night has made me most pleased," Sansa smiled gratefully at him kissing him passionately and pulling away with an impossible grin that stretched the entirety of her face as her cheeks blossomed with a glow that Ramsay had never witnessed cross her features. What Ramsay saw reflected back at him he couldn't describe but it filled him with an inner elation to behold. It felt like the breeze on a warm summer's day, and he decided then that he'd give her the world if she asked for it.


	29. Hiatus

I know what the name of this update is, and before anyone panics, I'm only taking a small break from writing as I record every chapter I have posted here already in audio form.

I was asked to do this by a good friend as a birthday gift, so for the past couple nights, I've been searching around for a good place to upload audio (that wouldn't be a pain in the ass for you guys to download!) I worked it out tonight, and set to work on recording the first chapter. I goofed quite a bit just figuring out how to use the thing LOL! But, I got the hang of it now and hope to knock out as many recordings each night as I can muster until I'm caught up and will start writing again.

The story is at a happy place I felt to put on a pause to do this, but I do apologize to all that are chomping at the bit waiting for the next chapter!

For all that may be interested, here is chapter one in audio form!: (Take out the asterisks to get the link! That's these: '*') h*t*tps*:*/*/*app*.*box.*com*/*s*/*laxwz44l31hnbdxasp5p818f6o6n94j0

When I finish up to the last chapter I've posted, I will update a link to a master list of all the recorded chapters up to date on my archive of our own site (where they allow links on like fanfic!), and from this point on, every new chapter update will also have an audio version of my crappy voice reading the chapter LOL! XD (You will have to go to my Archive version of this story to get it, and I will update my profile here, so you can easily link to it my Archive account too. (I have a lot of added art in the story there as well for those that may enjoy a little visuals too :P)

I've been so super excited about this that I couldn't sleep and had to give you guys the 411! =D


	30. Duality

As a note for any interested, all audio versions of the chapters are up and available on my Archive of Our Own site. (There's a link here on my profile...

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Duality

Sansa continued to beam her joy down at Ramsay with a content grin as her hands moved tenderly down his knees to maneuver around behind them. She drew her fingers down across the length of Ramsay's calves to his ankles stroking the expanse of his lower legs in a languid fashion as she settled her weight back to sit on her heels. Sansa's eyes drifted across his frame taking in the fact that Ramsay's chest still shuttered on occasion from his recent exertion as she murmured mirthfully, "Who would have thought one could become so dirty in a place meant to make you clean."

Ramsay mentally attuned to the gentleness of her fingertips caressing him as Sansa's words floated through him; his thoughts registered the full of their meaning as his mind pushed in a direction to contemplate the multitude of emotions coursing through him. His hands absently splashed a cleansing swipe of water up and over his chest to remove the sullying evidence of his spilt seed upon him as his eyes drifted slowly down the arch of Sansa's body. His sights paused to take in her pert erect nipples and the way the sheen of wetness that coated her it droplets of cascading waters served to rouse another bout of sexual discord within him from the acts they had just partaken in, but there was an underlying current of awkwardness and shame he now felt that left Ramsay's thoughts muddled. His confusion sent his eyes plummeting down to stare numbly into the bath waters taking in the scene before him in a passive manner as if he were but a spectator over having been an active participant.

Now that the rapture of the moment was seeding away, Ramsay was left with all the sorted conflictions having orgasmed with her in such a way released within him. Had he actually enjoyed what she'd done to him? His face flushed in embarrassment to think he may have, although he placated internally that her graceful manipulation of his cock had been his main focus and reasoning that he'd ultimately climaxed. Ramsay wasn't ready to swallow the possibility that Sansa taking him in such a way could be pleasing to him; it made him feel acutely his new role in their relationship; he might as well be labeled her wife instead of her husband Ramsay thought bitterly. Would she ever want him in ways that traditional men and women fornicated? The thought that Sansa seemed solely obsessed with penetrating him left Ramsay with an unease settling in his gut that his future with her may consist of just that, being on the receiving end of Sansa uncomfortably filling him with digit or object on most every sexual encounter where his tongue was not put to work.

Ramsay's chest tightened to think on this prospect, and Sansa noting the look of discontent cropping to roost over his features cocked her head to the side to study Ramsay a moment before stating inquisitively, "You're brooding. Is there something the matter, Ramsay?"

Ramsay blinked reorienting his gaze on Sansa; his eyes carried a forlornness now as he shook his head lightly no. He didn't wish to upset Sansa when she'd decided to be kind to him especially after having already chided him for his surly attitude nearly taking him to task instead of engaging in the most recent pleasantness of fondling him to climax. The last thing Ramsay wanted to do was forego any other such appeasements Sansa may bestow upon him before getting to the inevitable painful future she'd announced was to come. The weight of accountability was heavier now that a lot of his initial pent up sexual energy had been released, and Ramsay's mind was drawn back to their earlier conversation and the threat Sansa's words held for him.

The bath would not last long enough Ramsay ruminated, and the realization that time was running thin sent waves of dread to coil through him; Sansa's hand was better than the strap, but the memory of her hand still made his ass twinge in recollection. There would be no avoiding what she planned to deliver him Ramsay was well aware; a Stark was true to their word, and Sansa had been rather adamant with her proclamation of what he was due even in the face of his own resolute protests of unfairness. These thoughts were another reminder that life, as Ramsay had known it before, was becoming like a distant haze in the wake of his changing perceptions and expected behaviors.

Sansa frowned knowing that Ramsay was being less than truthful with the simple noncommittal gesture he gave her. It was puzzling after what they'd just shared, Ramsay appeared almost sullen now when he had seemed extremely pleased moments ago. Sansa had to wonder if her preliminary breech of etiquette to ask for his consent had tarnished the shared act; this thought disquieted her with a wave of guilt. She decided it was best to let the topic go for now so as not to spoil the mood.

Sansa leaned forward to place her hands behind Ramsay's shoulders cinching her grasp into the wooden frame of the tub pulling herself forward until her face was inches away from his. Ramsay's cobalt blue eyes widened with her advance registering her movements but remaining still; Sansa's mouth drew into a smirk planting a quick light peck on the tip of his nose causing Ramsay's eyes to cross following the descent of her lips and ultimately to lose focus with eye lashes fluttering as his gaze fell away. Ramsay's own lips curled into a quirky grin as Sansa's afforded attentions erupted a glow of warmth to course through him. Such affections seemed to garner the intended response Sansa was looking for as Ramsay immediately perked and a smile flooded across his face once more pulling him out of the temporary gloom he'd allowed himself to drop into.

"We should wash before the bath grows cold," Sansa whispered laying another soft kiss on the bridge between Ramsay's eyebrows before pulling herself up to stand on her knees and swiveling to the tub's side to grab a sea sponge and the jar of salt scrub. Sansa presented them simultaneously to Ramsay, her lip lifting into a barely contained smile as Ramsay took in what she proffered him and casually sat up straight to accept the supplies without question.

Ramsay's eyes darted between the items and Sansa as he watched her slowly lean back against the head rest and level her gaze upon him expectantly. Sansa parted her legs then, and Ramsay watched both of her knees bob from the surface and into the depths as her long legs drifted to slide to either side of him. Ramsay felt his balls stir and his cock bob to life with the scene she presented before him. He let lose a restrained exhale clenching his jaw in repressed desire to see Sansa displayed so invitingly before him. Ramsay wanted her so badly, he wanted to ravage her, to pull her into him and fuck her like a crazed beast. He pulled the sponge into the waters squeezing out his sexual frustrations before setting the jar down on the side of the tub and dipping his fingers into the grainy substance to pull out some of its contents and apply it to the sponge.

Sansa watched the ripple of emotion pass over Ramsay's face and how he worked to contain himself. She could see how much he wanted her now, and whereas before that avarice filled Sansa with terror and anxiety, now it set a heat to burn in her own loins to know that Ramsay still felt drawn to her sexually (even if he knew he could only have her on her terms.) She may have Ramsay inside of her one day Sansa decided, but he had a lot to prove to her before she'd grant him that luxury. For now, he just needed to learn how best to serve her, and once he'd shown himself to be humble to her for long enough, she'd ride him at her own discretion for her own pleasure. Perhaps then she would take his seed and quicken with his child. Getting pregnant was the main reason that Sansa would not bend to Ramsay's want to have her in this way where she otherwise may have ceded to this passion as it was no longer wholly undesirable. If Sansa was to accept Ramsay in that capacity, Sansa had to know in her heart that she was willing to make their union a permanent declaration to all that observed that she would have Ramsay not only in her service but by her side as a true mate and husband.

Lifting her leg from the bath, Sansa placed the balls of her feet daintily against Ramsay's chest. Ramsay responded to her action by lightly pulling on her leg to firmly plant her foot against himself before gliding his hand tentatively down her calf gently securing her leg in his hold while Ramsay's other hand slid the salt scrub lathered sponge in small circles across her skin. Sansa watched the serious expression Ramsay wore as he worked the sponge to lather her leg thoroughly, and once he'd dutifully covered the entirety of the surface he was working on, he dunked the sponge to pull up dregs of water to rinse tincture from the surfaces he'd applied it. He performed the task almost clinically, but once Ramsay had finished he ran his hand over her leg to inspect the work he'd done leaning over to plant a tender kiss on her shin, his eyes locking on her radiating the deference he felt, before lowering the leg back into the bath water and bringing up her other leg to repeat the same process.

Sansa could feel her sex swell under the weight of Ramsay's devoted gaze and the nimble movements of his dexterous hands. Ramsay may have been horrendous in what he applied himself to in the acts of flaying, but such practices had made his attention to finite detail impeccable; he used this skill now to follow the curvature of Sansa's muscles in delicate swipes that had her lashes fluttering with the pleasure he was causing her. Ramsay smiled wolfishly asking in a tone that was more a statement than a question, "Do you like that, my lady?"

Sansa smirked lifting her gaze up to take in the look Ramsay afforded her now; he knew what he was doing was pleasing her, he only wanted to hear her tell him as much to stroke his ego. She chuckled lightly, "I do, Ramsay. But can your hands be as graceful as your tongue?" Ramsay's eyes burned with fervent desire as he quickly nodded, "I will be as graceful as you desire." Sansa's smile broadened, "Finish bathing me, I will finish bathing you, and then I will put you to your word." Ramsay hastened back to the given task albeit his hands were no longer as steady Sansa noted.

Her words rocketed into Ramsay sending a pulse to surge straight into his cock instantly making his member rock hard. He'd been aroused prior, but for Sansa to invite him to touch her womanhood was another step closer to engaging in other sexual acts. He swallowed hard as his mind turned to the imagery of inserting two fingers into her entrance and working her to boil over to his attentions. If he did it well enough, then maybe she would let him wrap her folds onto his cock for a second orgasm for the both of them.

Sansa could tell Ramsay was highly distracted and wholly unfocussed with the duty she'd given him, and this amused her to watch Ramsay who had been so careful, smooth, and precise a moment ago become jerky and sporadic in his movements. Ramsay remained thorough though, and so Sansa only smiled wider letting him finish sponging her legs before turning in the tub to let Ramsay wash her back. Ramsay watched Sansa move around to face away from him, and this level of newfound trust between them bloomed another pang of adoration to crop in his chest. She had stopped fearing him a while ago, but this was something he'd somehow earned from her.

Ramsay sopped up water into the sponge squeezing its contents from shoulder to shoulder to douse Sansa's back before setting the sponge down on the edge of the tub. Instead of placing the salt scrub on the sponge, Ramsay dipped both hands into the jar to hold enough of the mixture to spread from the nape of Sansa's neck outward to her shoulders kneading the granules into her flesh with a feather-light touch as he rumbled headily into Sansa's ear, "You'll find that my hands can be quite adept at pleasing you as will any part of me that you wish for me to exercise my talents, my lady."

It was of course a flagrant invitation for sex Sansa knew, but she wasn't going to give Ramsay any false hope as she responded, "I've found much of you these days that pleases me, Ramsay. To know that no other has had you in the way that I have excites me; it leaves me greedy to lay claim to take you many times over just the same."

It was further affirmation of what Ramsay feared, and his hands stilled momentarily as his sexual energies dissipated, and he mutely returned to the task of washing her. Sansa felt the change in atmosphere her decree elected, and a part of her felt bad that she had voiced it. She didn't want to make Ramsay unhappy, but another part of her knew that she couldn't lead Ramsay on to think he would get something from her she was not ready to give him. Sansa didn't have to see Ramsay's face to tell that he was brooding again. Let him, Sansa thought as she frowned slightly annoyed; Ramsay should be grateful that she wanted to give him any pleasure at all after everything that he'd put her through.

Ramsay attended Sansa then not unlike many servants that she'd had bathe her; his handling became remote and steadied as he continued to ruminate on Sansa's statement and what it meant to him. It was disappointing to say the least but not unexpected; Ramsay sighed inwardly as he stared down the length of her neck, her spine, and the curves of her waist admiring the body he knew he would not have in the way he wanted.

What didn't register within Ramsay was that her refusal of him in this way only seemed to flourish an even deeper lust to have her in any capacity that Sansa would allow. Sansa was breathtaking to behold and more so to touch intimately as he did now. She'd become a forbidden fruit where just basking in her presence when she wanted him was a reward in itself. He would enjoy the next part of washing her Ramsay thought lasciviously as he declared, "I've finished all but your front, lady Sansa. Would you wish that I reach around to wash you, or would you prefer to turn about?"

Glancing over her shoulder, Sansa let a small smile grace her lips as her eyes shot Ramsay a look of avarice before answering, "Apply the salts to your hands and reach around so that I may guide you." Ramsay licked his lips doing as Sansa had stated more than a little excited by this new added element. Listening to Ramsay ready his hands with the jar's contents, Sansa lifted her elbows up even to her shoulder's span. When Ramsay brought his hands through the opening under her arms that she'd left him, Sansa placed her own hands atop his interlacing their fingers as she extended her hands out in front of her bringing Ramsay's body in to press flush against her back.

Ramsay was erect, and his chest heaved a breathy exclamation to his building excitement as Sansa lifted her face toward the ceiling. She lifted their hands to start at her throat maneuvering slowly over her collarbone and down to rest on her bosom. She stilled lingering and listening to Ramsay's breath hitch in his throat. Ramsay's arms grew taut and his hands twitched with a barely suppressed urge not to squeeze the mounds she'd so readily placed in his hands. To tease him in this way was almost cruel, but Sansa justified that she had just brought him to climax, so Ramsay could stand to get a little worked up. Sansa shifted their conjoined hands to circle her breasts twice over in a slow and drawn out fashion more for Ramsay's satisfaction than her own before trailing on down her body. Sansa rose on her knees dragging their hands down to lather her belly before sliding the course of her hips to the underside of her thighs. This apparently was more stimulus than Ramsay could handle without any recourse, and Sansa felt his hands reflexively grip her inner thighs possessively. Sansa rebuked lightly, "Wash Ramsay, there will be plenty of time for you to use your hands in other ways when I deem it."

A barely audible groan escaped his throat as Sansa spoke all the while pulling their hands to the swell of her sex. Ramsay's whole body felt heated against her, and the closeness of laying against Sansa's back, sliding along her body left him intoxicated. Ramsay trailed light kisses down her spine moistening his lips with the dew like droplets that clung to her as Sansa continued to maneuver their hands to crest up and down over her most intimate parts. He wanted to push his fingers into her now, but he heeded Sansa's earlier tidings and let her guide the movements of his hands as his own cock now worked against her back to enjoy the way that their bodies collided throughout this exchange. Ramsay was dislodged from his musings when he felt Sansa remove their hands her voice ringing out reproachfully, "Save yourself, Ramsay. The evening is young, and I wish to be inside of you when next you release your seed for me."

This admission soured the mood for Ramsay, and not voicing his frustrations after several points of getting worked up just to have his expectations dashed prematurely now had Ramsay growling, "Why can't we just fuck like a normal couple?"

Sansa snapped her head back around to glower at Ramsay before turning her body entirely to face him in a whiplash motion as she clipped, "Do you really need to ask that?" Her words dripped with acid, and Ramsay drew back from her sudden response staring dumbfounded at Sansa by the quick change in her demeanor. He held up both hands in supplication, "I wasn't trying to anger you, I am just trying to understand why it has to be… that way …over more traditional means?"

Sansa narrowed her eyes at Ramsay as she spat venomously, "Nothing about our relationship has ever been traditional, Ramsay, and it likely never will be." Sansa's face softened as Ramsay's gaze pulled away and she heard him lightly apologize, "I didn't mean any offense, lady Sansa …forgive me." A thrill of fear rocked through Ramsay to hear the iciness in her tone. All it took for Ramsay to revert into this pathetic creature was for Sansa to show any form of displeasure with him; it sickened Ramsay to no end to feel this immediate uncontrollable fear instantly crop within him. She hadn't even threatened him, but yet he found himself still cowed from the lingering mental lacerations of things done to him weeks prior. Things that still could be done to him if he angered Sansa enough.

Ramsay honestly didn't think that Sansa would deliver such abuses to him anymore especially after apologizing to him for her most recent transgression of nonconsenting invasion, which was nowhere near the rigors he'd endured. That aside, there were still mental scars that didn't allow Ramsay the amenity of not reacting in a self-preserving fashion to protect himself from real or imagined threats that he seemed helpless to react not unlike a beaten dog. In these occurrences, Ramsay couldn't help but to remember Theon… not Reek, but his 'crafted' Reek, the man he'd utterly destroyed. Had this been the way he'd made Theon's every waking moment feel? Hinged with a fear of disobeying lest he be undone? In this instant, Ramsay felt acutely what he'd mentally taken from the man in a most sorrowful way, and he was sorry.

Sansa's hand reached out to rest on Ramsay's cheek knocking him from his reverie; Ramsay flinched from the unexpected gesture flicking wide eyes up to regard Sansa warily. He was relieved that she no longer stabbed him with eyes filled with derision; the heat had simmered and what remained was a look of indecision. Ramsay found himself placing his hand over hers softly turning his lips to Sansa's palm to kiss her tenderly as he murmured into her hand, "Please do not be angry with me… I've never been overly good with expressing myself. Delicate words have never been my forte."

Sansa studied Ramsay's expression, and it was true that he did seem contrite, and on some level Sansa felt sorry for Ramsay that he felt the need to feel so sorry at such a small slight, but memory served to pronounce that she had conditioned this response in him, and to undo it may do neither any good. She swallowed hard nodding, "I'm not angry with you Ramsay, and your vexations are clear. But, there's something you need to understand, I'm not ready or willing to have you in the capacity that you desire. I will not tell you that I ever will, but I can say that the idea of you inside of me now no longer sends a jolt of revulsion through me," this admission clearly stung as Ramsay visibly cringed. Sansa sighed placing her other hand on Ramsay's cheek lifting his face, so that his eyes would take her in fully, "You took from me without remorse and left bitter rage in your wake. Those embers have waned to what I have discovered in you, but I have to feel that we've moved well past what we were that brought us to this twisted road we are walking before I will ever let you inside of me again. I need you to give me this, so that I can heal the wounds that you created. They are deep, Ramsay, but I'm mending. If you want me it will have to be by my terms alone; it's the only choice I offer."

Ramsay was silent a long moment, and each second that ticked by spread a wave of uncertainty and discomfort through Sansa afraid that this would be the point that he refused her and that their relationship would truly fracture into dissonance. Slowly he nodded, "I want you… I want you in whatever way that you will have me, lady Sansa." He didn't say, 'because I love you,' but the way that his eyes reflected longing back at her now, the meaning was more than felt. Sansa moved in closer to passionately pull Ramsay's lips to hers, "I will to have you, Ramsay. You are forever mine."


	31. Theories of Emotion

Chapter Thirty

Theories of Emotion

Ramsay let go a small whimper as Sansa's lips burned all doubt away from him leaving his mind to reel over her final words, "Forever mine." He felt a wash of euphoria and despair to take in that statement. Ramsay wanted nothing more now than to be truly hers, but to relinquish all of who he was to her meant the utter loss of the vestiges of his former self that a part of Ramsay still subconsciously clung to. It was becoming apparent that this sacrifice was far costlier than Ramsay had originally contemplated. He wasn't just offering Sansa his fealty anymore, he was surrendering his heart.

Such a prospect had never been contemplated by Ramsay or even remotely offered to anyone before; Ramsay had decided long ago to shut down any avenues for another to touch a part of him where he could be made vulnerable; he had learned through bitter experience that to give any part of himself to anyone typically equated to pain and rejection. Solid walls were built to fortify against cracks that would reveal his personal failings to others and himself, but Sansa had upset the scales of balance breaking the veil and veneer he'd meticulously placed and ultimately throwing Ramsay into a tumultuous sea of mystification by every choice with him that she elected to take.

Sansa made Ramsay feel needy and weak, but at the same time what she gave him in return fulfilled a yearning that Ramsay had never dreamed could be tapped into let alone offered to him. These unbidden emotions left Ramsay to feel tattered and frail like a rent flag on a battle field waiting to be claimed. And claimed Ramsay was ready to be folding to Sansa's affections to demurely collapse into the waters before her and bask in the kisses she trailed down his chin and along the length of his neck.

Electrified by Sansa's handling, Ramsay found his eyes closing as she pulled his body possessively to her. Remotely, Ramsay wondered what this sudden sensual aggressiveness would manifest into, but another part of him found it hard to care as long as she kept pouring this level of passion onto him. Igniting to her ministrations like dry leaves in a raging fire, Ramsay did not question that he was wholly hers now, Sansa Stark's captivated lover and willing prisoner.

Sansa held all power over him, and she could do as she willed regardless of his own wants and desires, much as Ramsay had done with Theon. Ramsay was more than thankful Sansa held far more compassion for him than he had ever spared the wretched Iron Borne prince. He knew Sansa cared for him now, yet one of the biggest hurdles Ramsay still tackled was learning to let go of his cropping fear that Sansa would one day reject and replace him. It was even harder for Ramsay to learn to trust that she no longer wished to 'harm' him even though she easily proclaimed that she would still physically punish him for any perceived transgression. Ramsay's thoughts lingered momentarily on that ugly business of vowed corporal punishment still to come and frowned. Much to his chagrin, Ramsay was begrudgingly becoming all too well indoctrinated to facing and acquiescing to such humiliations. His life could become far less complicated, Ramsay knew, if he could just avoid finding himself in such uncomfortably painful predicaments by accepting Sansa's relationship terms, (and learning to control his temper!)

Ramsay sighed placing these musings to the back of his mind to avoid ruminating on them further. That was an inevitable future to dwell on later, but for now, he preferred to surrender to the pleasure of Sansa guiding him backwards across the expanse of the bathtub with hungry kisses. Ramsay collided powerfully into the headboard with a grunt settling against it while Sansa's lips pulsed in a tight suction at the base of his neck and collarbone. Ramsay's eyes fluttered upward as he groaned to the sensation of her soft mouth latching to his skin. Sansa pulled away with an audible snap, and Ramsay peered down with a smirk to see the mark she'd left upon him in the shape of a circular bruise. Sansa's lips were flush and swollen from her efforts, and her stare levied a demand on him that Ramsay wasn't sure he could fulfill, but he was more than willing to try.

Grinning playfully down at Ramsay, Sansa stated, "I best get to washing you, the water is already taking in the chill of winter no matter how our desires heat it." This comment brought a beaming smile to Ramsay's face as he rested each arm upon the tub's frame returning her comment with a cocky grin, "There will always be plenty of heat to give no matter where we deign to lie, my lady, but I will say the thought of you tending to me again is a most pleasant one."

Sansa's eyebrow lifted and the corner of her mouth curved upward as she regarded Ramsay with a brazen smile, "I dare say let me attend you then, dear husband." Every time Sansa referred to him as her husband now served to make Ramsay's chest swell with pride. The fact that Sansa acknowledged their marriage at all left a hope to burn within Ramsay that this relationship they were forming could one day evolve back into what he saw was a true marriage shared between a man and woman (or as far as Ramsay had always known a traditional marriage to be.) Although, Ramsay would keep such musings of a want to be a more conventional couple to himself now for fear of upsetting Sansa again as he had with his earlier proclamations on how he perceived their relationship should proceed.

There wasn't a day that went by now where Ramsay didn't wish he had originally respected Sansa from the onset. Instead, he was left to regretfully ponder the foregone relationship they could be enjoying in lieu of the one they now carefully stitched and mended (even though a large part of Ramsay knew everything that they were and had become was a culmination of their past and present. The road their paths had lead them could no more be altered in its given course than that of the sun following the moon.) With no other presentable option, Ramsay had made the finite choice to be content to just enjoy the part of herself Sansa gave until she was willing to offer him more. It hadn't taken Ramsay long to decide that Sansa was more than worth waiting for.

Ramsay groaned as Sansa silently moved into action dipping her fingers into the salt scrub and working the substance gently into Ramsay's flesh except Sansa was speedier with the process working to fulfill the task quickly as the bath waters cooled. She still spent extra time upon his genitals (especially his entrance to which Ramsay uncomfortably squirmed with a grimace doing his best to stay in place and hoping that Sansa did not wish to penetrate him again here and now.) Sansa seemed more interested in actually preforming the required need of cleansing Ramsay over sexually fondling him (much to Ramsay's disappointment when it came to his cock) although Ramsay did note that Sansa grabbed and stroked his half-mast member confidently without any hesitation; this boldness to touch his sex (even if just to clean him there) was a further elation for Ramsay especially after Sansa's most recent statement regarding him ever entering her again.

The bath was rapidly losing heat, and by the time Sansa had finished Ramsay was more than happy she had decided to be abrupt rather than to take her time washing him as she'd done the first bath she'd given him in the dungeon. It was still enjoyable to feel her hands gliding over him as she'd worked the mixture into his skin. The salt scrub was perfumed with crushed petals of flowers, and having the flowery concoction being applied to him, Ramsay was reminded of Heke and his absurd crown of posies he wore religiously. Ramsay's nose curled at the imagery and forgotten memory of the stench Heke… his first Reek, had tried to mask with the floral display. Mixed with the repellant memory of the man's stink, some small part of Ramsay felt a sudden pang of loss knowing that man, who had been the closest person to him throughout a large portion of his life, was no more.

Sansa's hands continued to caress the tincture into Ramsay's neck and shoulders pulling Ramsay away from the headboard to sweep long massaging strokes up and down his back. Her breasts heaved inches from his face and occasionally brushed across his nose as she reached around him which drew Ramsay's attention fully back on her. Every time her soft mounds or any part of her body pressed against his, Ramsay found himself inhaling deeply. The flowery scent that had mildly repulsed Ramsay and remind him of Heke was largely overpowered to be forged into a much-improved memory by Sansa. The fleeting thought came to Ramsay then that Sansa was making him smell like her, and where that may have annoyed Ramsay to smell like a woman in most any other circumstance, he now welcomed the likeness this represented as a further bonding to become one with her.

By the time Sansa had sponged Ramsay clean of the salt scrub, they were both beginning to shiver. Sansa stated in amusement, "I think we've expended the pleasantness this bath has to offer us; Come, I will get you a towel." Climbing from the bath, Sansa swiftly grabbed one of the many thick towels to wrap herself in before bringing another for Ramsay who stood from the tub and followed suit. Sansa's gaze trailed back to watch Ramsay coiling the large towel about his small frame as he hopped out of the tub quivering and rubbing his limbs fiercely to stave off the damp cold.

Sansa dried herself watching Ramsay with a growing smile as she examined that the entirety of the towel covered Ramsay from neck to ankle as he wrapped it around himself and waddled towards her. She didn't know why, but the fact that he was so diminutive compared to her own stature turned her on; Sansa supposed it was because Ramsay's light weight and smaller size made him more susceptible to being snatched up and physically taken by her. Sansa had daydreamed immensely on her long journey home a myriad of aggressively dark fantasies that played out internally to the tune of claiming Ramsay savagely in ways that she would no longer enact but that the mental imageries of still made Sansa's clit pulse to life just to think on.) The thought of Ramsay splayed on her bed, vulnerably open to her, and willingly allowing her to enter him, had Sansa more than a little excited. She would have Ramsay in such a capacity very soon (even if he was not wanting of this now, Ramsay would still offer himself to her without resisting her demand of him, and that in itself had Sansa heady and her sex swelling in further desire.) Sansa mused that with Ramsay's recent agreeable attitude, it was only a matter of time before she would get him to like what she did to him.

Ramsay beamed inwardly feeling quite blissful to see the way Sansa regarded him with an amused smile spreading across her face. He read her grin as a want of him here and now, to be with her, together as they were. Sansa had stated that she wished to have him touch her once they'd finished bathing, and Ramsay's mind had already lustfully turned to the thought of that coming event. He would bring Sansa to climax and prove that he was a multifaceted lover when she gave him the chance; perhaps an impressive delivery would leave Sansa more willing to try other things… Ramsay could only hope.

As Ramsay approached, Sansa adjusted her towel to her like a clasped cape draping from her shoulders, so she could offer her other hand out to Ramsay. Ramsay's eyes first shot to her nakedness uncovered by this gesture before taking in her proffered hand. He shifted his own towel to wrap about his shoulders glancing at the serene expression Sansa afforded him before returning his gaze back to her hand. Without further hesitation, Ramsay put his hand in hers, and his smile broadened to feel the strength of her hand clasping his in a tender squeeze. A profound wave of contentment teemed within Ramsay then as Sansa gracefully led them back to her bed holding his hand all the while.

They padded back across the room, and the noonday sun's rays refracted from the window to accent the highlights in Sansa's hair lighting her pale skin with a luminous glow that gave her an almost divine aura. Ramsay examined this effect with childish wonderment as Sansa continued to guide him over to the bed hanging her towel on the bed's frame, lifting the covers, and glancing back at Ramsay with a smirk that held her obvious avarice for what was to come. She wasted no time climbing onto the bed and giving Ramsay's hand a light yank to send him stumbling in behind her. The two quickly pulled the covers up and over their shoulders as they simultaneously folded into a semi fetal ball to shake off the accosting winter chill drafting in through the open window. They huddled closely within the confines of their tightly wrapped blankets, the heat of their bodies generating an encompassing warmth that dispelled their tremors until both lay still, face to face, just staring into the other's eyes.

Ramsay wanted to kiss her, but the boundaries that separated them made him feel hesitant to act. Would she welcome the advance, or would it anger her? She wanted to be the one to respond first Ramsay had learned early on, but was that still the case now? Sansa seemed most pleased when he let her take the initiative, so Ramsay stayed where he was taking in her calm expression and wondering if he should speak. Sansa broke the stillness with a feathery touch that delicately found Ramsay's hand under the sheets. Her hand wrapped fully around his wrist as she used this placement to shift her body closer aligning his hand with her mound while placing the rest of her body closely to his where Sansa's arm circled Ramsay's head and her breasts lay on his pillow.

Her fingers playfully curled into the tufts of hair at the back of Ramsay's neck, and Sansa moistened at the vibration of want Ramsay's throat readily emitted to her touch. She felt him nuzzle further into her to close the gap between them, and the gesture was so submissive in nature that she found herself leaning down to softly kiss Ramsay's temple as she whispered with assurance, "I could lay like this with you until the sun sank behind the trees. Never would I have imagined this day would come, Ramsay, but I would not forsake it for the world."

Ramsay did not answer, but what she said to him reverberated to his core and in response, he laid a gentle kiss in the hallow between her breasts. This kiss was not the passion-filled kiss, hungry with need, that Sansa had felt upon her back within the confines of the bath they'd just shared; this kiss was light and careful, timidly placed with a sensitivity not shared in lust and not easily given. This kiss was tender and placed upon her with a sentimentality that spoke of a reflection to what one holds most precious. If ever love could be felt between two people, the sense of it enveloped Sansa now as the hand that still absently grasped Ramsay's wrist slid up his arm, over and behind his shoulder, and settled in the middle of his back to pull Ramsay into a tight embrace reciprocating the affection he'd shown her.

It was blissful torture to have her and not have her Ramsay ruminated as his senses took in Sansa stroking his back with languid sweeps of her fingertips that sent goosebumps to trail through the entirety of his body. The sensation reminded Ramsay of the way lightning streaked across the sky to spread it's current in a fanning array leaving a crackling ozone to fill the air that felt both exciting and dangerous all at the same time. Ramsay drifted away from the warmth of her bosom laying his head back onto the pillow to rest in the crook of Sansa's arm. His gaze drifted up to hers taking in that serene half-lidded contentment of pleasure Sansa exuded. Ramsay just stared into Sansa's eyes searching for what exactly he wasn't sure; he needed to see the truth of her statement spoken in a way that only locking eyes could honestly declare.

Ramsay was more terrified contemplating the repercussions of letting Sansa into his heart than any harried situation or battle he'd taken part in. It was peril to open himself to Sansa like he was; to become vulnerable and ready to be stripped bare emotionally. He was giving Sansa power over him, entrusting his heart to her knowing that she could tear him to shreds at a whim. He was afraid, but Ramsay didn't doubt Sansa's fondness for him or her word, and to know that the feelings he had been cultivating for her, Sansa was tending like that of a secret garden only made his feelings for her flourish further.

Sansa took in Ramsay's expression feeling the weight of it more now than she ever had before. She had been curious when Ramsay had seemingly melted to the compassion she'd granted him in the dungeon so long ago. It was the first and only time she'd used her glass cock and rode Ramsay to climax, and Sansa had done so without care for the misery such an act heaped upon him. She'd been cruel to Ramsay beyond measure, and Ramsay had agonized all that Sansa had put him through each day progressively fracturing under the pressure like an egg left to boil too long. Sansa had known it then, she could have snapped Ramsay's mind like a twig and broken him beyond repair. Ramsay had already been balancing tenuously on a delicate strand that held his sanity on the brink of becoming that of what he himself had turned Theon Greyjoy into, a pitiful creature that was but a shell of the man he'd once encompassed.

Sansa could have thrown Ramsay into that mental dark hole and buried him into obscurity making him live out the rest of his days cowering at her feet in fear of what awful torments she would have done to him if he chose to disobey. Instead she had chosen a different path, to be kind. Sansa wasn't heartless, and Ramsay's sorrow had guilted her to reach out and comfort him. From that moment on, nothing had been clear and controlled like she pretended it was. Sansa had fooled everyone else to believe that she was taming the beast of Bolton, but in truth Ramsay was just as much dousing the raging fires within her. Gone was her embittered hate for him replaced by a lightheadedness that made her entire body tingle to see Ramsay staring up at her the way he did now. Sansa's hand glided out of the blankets to cup Ramsay's face lovingly before leaning down to kiss him gently on first his forehead and then his mouth all the while caressing his jaw with the undercurve of her hand enjoying the smooth texture of his freshly shaven chin. Her smile broadened to see Ramsay's eyes still stared at her as if awestruck. Sansa chuckled softly "Have I lost you, Ramsay? You look as though you're adrift having imbibed too much milk of the poppy."

"Why?" It was a simple question that tumbled weakly from Ramsay's lips, and Sansa's brow furrowed, "Why? I don't understand." Ramsay gulped feeling his face grow numb at the prospect of the answer Sansa may give him, but if he were to fully commit himself, he had to know rather than guess how Sansa felt about him, "Why… after all that I've done to you… why do you care for me now?"

Sansa's smile faltered as she considered Ramsay's statement. She took in a deep breath choosing her words carefully, "It's complicated… like everything between us. I hated the man you were, loathed him actually, but that's not the man I'm sharing my bed with now; is it?" Her eyes flicked to his denoting her seriousness and that she'd pushed the topic back to him with an expectancy that demanded that Ramsay had dove into deeper waters and that he'd better be prepared to ride the current by breeching the topic at all.

Ramsay's stomach lurched having to question himself on her behalf momentarily, was he still that man? There was no denying that not all of who he had been was completely gone; he was displaced from that man though and held nowhere near the same perspective he once did. To look back to the beginning of where he and Sansa had started their venture, Ramsay could attest that he most definitely was not that same man and never wanted to be again. He shook his head, "I'm not."

Smiling once more, Sansa ran her fingers through Ramsay's wild unkempt hair that had cropped into a messy tangle around his face. She watched as his bangs sprang forward once more too unruly to heed the direction she stroked them where the rest of his hair she smoothed back behind Ramsay's ear further highlighting his prominent jaw. Ramsay's eyes studied Sansa throughout as she did this focusing on her penetrating gaze as she brought their faces closer to speak in faint tones as Ramsay listened raptly, "I know you're not that man anymore, and that has allowed me to care for the man you're becoming, Ramsay. Some would say that death would be the only score you could settle, but that's not true, not to me anyway, and fate has given you to me, not them. There's more for you to learn and discover, and I promise that I will do my best to guide you to keep you from ever becoming that man again. Although, this not a promise I can keep without your willing participation."

Ramsay blinked absorbing her avowal and nodding along as if Sansa needed his affirmation that he would indeed participate before stating, "You have my word…" his eyes fell away and a small grimace formed on his lips realizing the foolishness of his testament when the worth of his word had been already proclaimed meaningless by so many now. His jaw tightened at this thought before his eyes found Sansa's again, and Ramsay amended, "I know you have no reason to take stock in what I tell you," his throat bobbed swallowing hard as he continued, "…but I will try to be the man you wish me to be, and I will do my best not to fail you." Ramsay's expression denoted worry, he lacked confidence in himself to perform this measure to her standards, but he was offering Sansa as honestly as he could that he would give her his best efforts.

Her face brightened at this admission as Sansa truly did believe Ramsay intended to seek to please her in this way. She did not expect perfection, but Ramsay was willing to earnestly try, and that was good enough for her. Leaning down, Sansa gently kissed Ramsay in response; her lips lingering on Ramsay's mouth drawing away slightly to hover over him. Their gaze met, eyes dancing over each other, before Sansa placed her mouth back greedily atop Ramsay's lips once more inhaling deeply every time their lips reunited, the intensity increasing until both were panting from the effort.

Mouths parting now, the tips of their tongues reached to touch exploratively. This sort of exploration was new for Sansa, and where she'd seen less than civil couples making spectacles of themselves with tongues lolling in and out of each other's mouths when her mother had taken her on journeys though Winter Town for odds and ends, where that scene had utterly repulsed her, the want to claim Ramsay's mouth in such a way now seemed natural. Sansa didn't proceed in the vulgar fashion she'd witnessed of those putting on a show for all to see; she simply darted her tongue lightly across the inside of Ramsay's upper lip, and sensing her desire for access, Ramsay had parted his own lips readily for her. Sansa moaned lustfully bracing her hand to cup Ramsay's jaw as her fingers threaded around Ramsay's ear possessively. She aggressively collided back into his mouth rolling to lay partially on top of Ramsay whose hand had been kneading into the sheets where she'd pinned it under her earlier. Sansa crushed her pelvis down upon Ramsay's knuckles dragging her sex across him to stimulate her swelling clit as she growled out, "Touch me, Ramsay."

Ramsay whimpered into Sansa's mouth his yearning as he quickly twisted his own body back to face her maneuvering his hand to glide up and down her mound feeling out Sansa's sex as his own erection pressed painfully against her thigh. Sansa didn't stop kissing Ramsay as his fingers tentatively searched the swell of her womanhood letting go a moan to take in how very wet she was. This discovery only made his penis throb its' want for her all the more. Ramsay's fingers pressed against Sansa's folds rocking in a sweeping motion to work his way into her inner sanctum when the hand attached to the arm coiled around Ramsay's head gripped domineeringly to the back of his scalp almost painfully. Ramsay's breath hitched a gasp against her mouth eyes flaring open to take Sansa's expression in as she heaved, "I don't want your fingers piercing me. Rub that place your tongue so easily finds."

Changing tactics to better please her, Ramsay drew his hand up a little continuing to pet her sex as her body gyrated its excitement against him. It was hard to tell what he was looking for with just his hand as his tongue was able to feel the subtleties of her sex more easily, but Ramsay concentrated his efforts feeling out with light strokes of his middle finger what provoked a reaction in Sansa. Ramsay had always been rather attuned to sensing the minute movements his ministrations afforded in another. Of course, Ramsay had always been seeking someone's pain over their pleasure prior, but the body responded much in the same way to given extreme stimulation. He rather liked causing Sansa to jerk about like this against him; it was far better than the struggles or detached acceptance Ramsay had become accustomed to in the short time the two had shared a bed where her body was mashed against him and he had been dominating her. She had never groaned in pleasure as he was getting her to do now; Ramsay had found that sweet spot stroking it fervently now as Sansa drifted away from his lips with brow contorting in concentration.

Her hand still clutched a handful of Ramsay's hair tightly obviously enjoying the hold she kept on him as her other arm wrapped around to seize the muscle between his neck and shoulder cinching her fingers into him with a vice-like grip. Sansa rocked against Ramsay's hand in her growing need to climax, and the closer Sansa came to orgasming the tauter her body coiled until she was rigidly grinding into Ramsay. Her eyes shot open then as her clit pulsed its release across his dexterous fingers, and Sansa cried out her ecstasy as her body tensed reflexively pulling Ramsay against her. Sansa panted to catch her breath shuddering against him as Ramsay's hand slipped away from her sex to lightly lay upon her hip. Sansa's heart pounded in her chest and resounded through her head as they lay ear to ear, and her orgasm ceded away.

Ramsay's voice echoed through her with a soft timber, "I take it you liked my hand as well as you liked my tongue, my lady. Did I satisfy your curiosity?" There was a hint of mirth Sansa detected in Ramsay's words; he was obviously rather proud of himself to have done so well.

Sansa smiled broadly still glowing from the shared experience as she pulled away enough to be able to see Ramsay's face and fix him with a lopsided grin and a lifted brow, "Satisfy my curiosity?" Sansa lifted her chin to the sky as if genuinely pondering Ramsay's question before stating in a deflated sigh belied by the grin she still sported, "Not for some time I'm afraid. I think it may take many, many undertakings on your part to ensure you discover how best you can please me before my curiosity could be sated. But I have to warn, I'm quite the curious person, so you may never reach this goal you seek."

Ramsay smirked regarding Sansa with mock seriousness, "Is that so, dear wife? Well, I had best take notes then, as you, lady Sansa, are turning into a very complicated woman to please." Sansa chuckled at the airs Ramsay played with as she loosened her hold from around him closing in to kiss him quickly before shifting over to give them both room to get comfortable on the bed. Ramsay frowned as she pulled away wanting to cum again himself after witnessing and feeling Sansa climax to his efforts. He knew better than to push, but he subtlety rolled closer to let his hard member brush against Sansa as a cue that he was still horny. Sansa lay on the bed beaming over at Ramsay, she was still more than ready to cum again too, and now that they both had been warmed up to release their initial sexual tensions, it was time to take this encounter to the next level.


	32. Expectations

Chapter Thirty-One

Expectations

Ramsay lay propped on his elbow regarding Sansa with a cocky smile and a swagger that spoke to her that he expected their next sexual encounter (no matter the facts that she had lain clear to him) to go his way now that he'd gotten her off as well as he'd promised; the grin that had settled on Sansa's face spread further to think on how mistaken Ramsay was. Outside of this afternoon, Sansa hadn't seen this side of Ramsay since their relationship was on the other end of the spectrum.

Since her departure and return, Sansa wasn't sure what Jon and he had gotten up to, but Ramsay had most certainly changed. He'd transformed from the timid victim she had made of him into a distorted reflection of the man she'd known before. Ramsay proceeded carefully with her, but there was something under the surface that came out the more relaxed he became with her. It was a subtle vanity that Ramsay had always held when regarding himself and his personal abilities, and something that although Sansa didn't wholly appreciate, she also didn't want to obliterate from his personality. That aside, the narcissism that displayed the entitled smug brat used to getting his way was definitely a part of Ramsay that Sansa wanted to rend and aggressively fuck out of him.

She had put Ramsay through quite a bit of trauma, and Sansa was honestly relieved that Ramsay was able to readily readjust and acclimate into the new role she'd demanded of him without the apparent mental scarring that Theon had exhibited from his time under Ramsay's rule. On her long journey home, Sansa had been haunted to wonder on the lasting damage she could have caused Ramsay just by comparing her own deeds to his, but to see the way Ramsay behaved with her today let Sansa's worries abate. She still wholly affected Ramsay, but she knew from his current shown resilience, she did not in fact cow Ramsay to the extent that she'd feared.

Although, to see flashes of Ramsay's old arrogance reemerging within his restoring self-confidence had another part of Sansa's mind swirling through some of her most recent darker fantasies involving him. These musings took her back to their first days spent in the dungeon where she'd originally stripped Ramsay of his hubris and had her way with him most thoroughly. Never had Sansa felt such a rush as she had to experience Ramsay tensing and shaking beneath her as she pleasured herself using him as he'd used her. It was objectifying for Ramsay, and under the crippling agony of what had been taken from her, to viciously take back her control was freeing for Sansa. After his ultimate defeat at her hands, Ramsay had fully submitted to Sansa's reign over him, and the power Ramsay had relinquished to her had left Sansa headily intoxicated.

The truth of the matter was, Sansa rather liked Ramsay compliant, and as much as what she'd done to him had come back to guilt her, Sansa couldn't help the bestial stirring within her now that wished to uncompromisingly dominate this side of the old Ramsay that dared be bold enough to resurface in her presence. The bit of challenge Ramsay's mannerisms expressed to her now, Sansa had to admit that she liked. Ramsay's cheeky attitude gave her all the reason she needed to reassert her sexual hegemony over him if only for the sole purpose of putting Ramsay in his place to prevent his inflated ego from having a chance to harmfully reestablish itself. Sansa was no fool; she would always have to emphasize control to keep it with Ramsay. Their bond was based on supremacy, and if Ramsay became too cocksure, it would make the relationship Sansa intended to have with him a struggle. There were however many fun and explorative ways for Sansa to maintain her hold on Ramsay she was discovering, and she planned to exercise them all in the most pleasurable of ways.

Sansa's eyes lulled into a half-lidded stare as she absently wondered how long that arrogance and haughty smile of Ramsay's would hold when she had her glass cock buried to the hilt within him! As much as her impulses called to ravish Ramsay like an animal in heat, she would not hurt him; never again would Sansa harm Ramsay either physically or emotionally as she had done in those first few days. Any pain she proffered upon Ramsay would be earned and delivered with care. Sansa placated to herself that this of course did not mean that she couldn't still take from him in the way she saw fit to mollify his duties to please his wife as a husband should. As these ruminations coursed through her mind, Sansa's libido spiked higher in a want to claim Ramsay in a covetous manner that brokered no argument that Ramsay was and would always be undeniably hers.

The avarice of her roiling sexual vivacity exuded from her countenance in waves. All the images conjured of having her way with him in various states was enough to make Sansa spring forward grabbing the inner crook of Ramsay's knee with a steely grip to yank Ramsay's frame roughly towards her. The sudden jerk caused Ramsay to unceremoniously flip from his side flattening him onto his back as Sansa proceeded to pull his prone form forcibly to the middle of the bed.

Ramsay's eyes widened in surprise as his smirk faltered at the sudden assault knowing without knowing what Sansa's surging desire meant for him by the hinted devious glint in the she-wolf's eyes. Ramsay had seen more than mere traces of this part of Sansa, and it both excited and scared him. Ramsay wasn't sure why it happened, but having Sansa tug him about so brusquely and easily had an immediate ripple of apprehension roll though him and without ceremony, his mind folded back into the submissive state Sansa had deeply carved into him. It was a role that Sansa had subconsciously instilled in Ramsay to defer to when she took on the role of aggressor with him. She had trained this immediate response in Ramsay, and where neither realized that to be the case both fell into their perspective parts as if this was the way it had always been between them.

Staring up at her worriedly, Ramsay's throat bobbed and his face flushed with the number of emotions he was feeling leaving him stunned and speechless. His heart was hammering in his chest to feel her hands moving him about the bed to position him where she wished. He had been dragged to the middle of the bed and then just as quickly, Sansa had leaned over him to hook her hands under his arms and physically lift him to prop his head on the long cylindrical pillow. She smiled darkly gazing down at Ramsay leaving Ramsay to wonder what she was thinking, all that he could tell was that manhandling him had seemed to highly satisfy Sansa as the look she threw upon him reminded Ramsay of a contented cat after having caught and eaten its prey.

An immediate heat prickled through Sansa ending with a tingling sensation in her loins; he was light Sansa eagerly noted knowing she could easily heft Ramsay's weight about. Being able to lift Ramsay so effortlessly made more ideas on the myriad of possible ways that she could fuck him flourish to the forefront of Sansa's mind. Her eyes traversed up and over Ramsay, and she saw that gone was that look that had garnered an overconfident veneer and a formidable dare begging to be conquered by her. In its place, Ramsay's eyes had grown wide with a mix of apprehension and adoration; he was intrigued by her and nervous of what she planned to do with him next, but he dared not tell her as much letting himself become lost in the rapture of her governance over him.

Sansa sighed closing her eyes and taking in and letting out a deep breath as the realization that she had to pace herself became apparent. Although her fantasies called to stick her toy inside of herself and just as quickly into Ramsay to get to the deed she so wanted to perform, Ramsay was nowhere near ready for that intensity. Slow and steady Sansa silently told herself giving Ramsay a sweet smile and leaning in to lay a soft kiss on his lips before sitting back up to just admire his prone form half in and out of the sheets. She could see his anxiety had not stopped his lower half from remaining excited as his member lay well defined in the creases of the blanket; Ramsay was rock hard. She laid her hand lightly on his erection, and Sansa felt Ramsay's cock immediately pulse to life against her hand.

Ramsay's whole body undulated to her touch, and his eyes flared as an almost inaudible whimper of desire slipped from his lips. As if on command, her fondling caused his lower half to gyrate hungrily aching for Sansa to bring him to climax once more. Sansa gently squeezed Ramsay through the sheets, and he moaned louder in response while his abdomen rippled remaining tight as his hips moved faster working himself up to cum again as his need began to build.

"Ah, ah, Ramsay. Not now; not like this," Sansa chided, and Ramsay slowed finally stilling and deflating in her hand slightly as memory of their earlier conversation served to remind him exactly what Sansa referred to now. Ramsay opened his mouth to speak, but after a moment thought better of what he wanted to say. He had vocally agreed to bend to her terms in order to be with her, and as much as Ramsay wanted to protest this declaration of Sansa's, to waffle in his conviction now would only anger Sansa in a way he did not wish to see. Instead, Ramsay found himself pouting at the loss the exchange afforded him as his brow furrowed in frustration.

Sansa seemed to be enjoying the way she was making Ramsay squirm as she stared down at him her grin taking on an almost malevolent tinge as she dragged her hand from his ribcage sleekly down to his hip giving the flesh there a harsh squeeze that made Ramsay flinch cagily. Ramsay's expressions were ever telling; he was not one that had ever taken to hiding his feelings when he felt physically or emotionally out of control since he rarely came to feel this way with anyone outside of his father; he didn't like where this was going, but there wasn't going to be any avoiding it.

Sansa took Ramsay in a long moment before removing herself from the bed and opening up the top drawer of her nightstand to bring out an ornate silver flask that bore the symbol of her house upon it setting it atop the dresser simply. Ramsay observed this action with curiosity wondering the flask's contents for an instant before tracking Sansa's stride over to the robe that she had let fall to the floor upon his earlier arrival. Sansa casually swept the garment up off the floor and over her figure before moving to the door, cracking it slightly, and addressing one of the guards. Ramsay watched on, sitting up, and straining to hear what Sansa had stated before she lightly closed the door turning back to look at him once more with a mischievous smile that would have split her face if it were to grow any larger.

Normally this positive show of attention towards Ramsay would have caused him no end of elation, but there was something in the look Sansa gave him now that had Ramsay on edge. What was it that she needed to inform the guards about? He could ask, but something told Ramsay that he really didn't want to know. Instead Ramsay remained mute drawing the blankets up to his chest (as if covering himself more thoroughly would prevent what in the back of his mind he knew was imminent but consciously he was avoiding would come to fruition.) Methodically Sansa inched around the room after brandishing a length of straw; she set the end of it aflame in the fireplace and proceeded to light each candle on the mantle. She followed this same course igniting each candle that surrounded the chamber. The room was already well illuminated by the high noonday sun, but Sansa promptly drew the curtains closed enveloping the bedroom solely in the intimacy of candlelight. She wanted the ambiance to reflect her mood, and this glow was better suited for it.

Ramsay's eyes were wide as saucers watching Sansa's curves as she maneuvered about the chamber very much appreciating what his eyes took in. She had nearly finished her task when the shrill rapid knock resonated through the room; Sansa waved the straw's flame out and proceeded swiftly to the door to answer the call. Cracking the door open, and upon seeing that the person knocking was who she had expected, Sansa opened the door wider to receive the basket that had been left in the dungeon when Sansa had gone on her excursion. There was no doubt now in Ramsay's mind what would follow knowing full well what that basket held. His pout drew down into a frown as further words were exchanged between Sansa and what Ramsay was almost sure was Cecil by the high pitched nasally twinge that echoed enough for Ramsay to recognize his inflection even if he couldn't make out what the two were saying. It hardly mattered now Ramsay thought sourly as he was more than sure the contents of the basket were no more a mystery for them as they were for Ramsay.

The door was closed too quickly, and Sansa was already making her way back to the bedside placing the basket next to the flask and abandoning her robe before Ramsay could fully register what was happening. His heartrate accelerated as Sansa withdrew the phallic glass piece that she had used to emasculate him in the worst of ways. His throat felt dry and his stomach felt sick to take the device in now. It would be inside him soon enough Ramsay was well aware, and a wave of self pity racked through him to know that this was what he must submit to in order to be with Sansa at all. It was of course his own fault that she would have him in no other way, and even though Ramsay knew this to be true, it was still not an easy fact to acknowledge when it came down to facing the reality it presented.

Sansa wasted no time propping her foot upon the edge of the bed to pop the bulb into herself with an audible pleasurable moan. Her own juices were making it hard to maintain a hold on the part inserted within her, and she felt the need to squeeze her inner muscles around it which only made her feel its presence inside of her all the more. All her nerves were alive to the sensation having this extension protruding from her gave. It was invigorating. Sansa's eyes watched Ramsay intently only taking them away long enough to glance at the dresser to retrieve the flask she'd set out. Opening the flask, Sansa tipped the contents into her hand, and Ramsay could tell by the sheen that glimmered off the small pool she'd poured that it was a lubricant of sorts. He could not draw his gaze away from Sansa's hand as she worked the fine oil over the length of her massive toy. The tip of her glass cock reflected the candlelight in a refractory prism as Sansa moved her slender palm up and down its length to coat it thoroughly. She'd sequestered the oil be made and placed in her nightstand just for this occasion before she'd made haste upon her journey. It was better than the sheep's fat, thicker and slick; it would help Ramsay take her much more easily, and the thought of effortlessly sliding all the way into Ramsay filled her with a titillation that Sansa had no words to describe.

Throughout this display, Ramsay could not draw his eyes away mesmerized and terrorized in the same degree. He felt caught like a fly in a spider's web internally struggling to get away but physically inert. Ramsay cringed defensively as Sansa took hold of the blankets flinging them assertively away from him. Ramsay's arms drew around his middle protectively and his legs drew up closer to his chest upon the sudden exposure (as if such a display would halt the want Sansa exuded climbing onto the bed beside him.) Ramsay instinctively pulled himself away and up against the headboard as Sansa casually worked her way around him. He didn't want to be penetrated at all, but Ramsay supposed on their wedding night when he had viciously taken her, Sansa had felt similarly.

Why was he comparing himself to what he had done to her now? This too seemed inevitable in Ramsay's thought processes these days; it was as if they were one in the same, or at least Ramsay found himself consistently coming back to relate his current experiences with that of which he had put upon Sansa before she had escaped him. He didn't currently realize the correlation had started the very moment that Sansa had started mirroring his own sins to her upon him deliberately. She had wanted to make Ramsay empathize the role of her own victimization finding satisfaction in Ramsay truly knowing her pain personally. Sansa had not been trying to evoke that experience in him for some time, but Ramsay could no more remove himself from that mental track than if she'd been repeating every word and pain he'd lanced upon her in verbatim.

As Ramsay's sights locked on Sansa drawing nearer taking in fully the vision of her still stroking the oil playfully up and down the phallus that protruded from her, those same feelings that had overtaken Ramsay the last time Sansa had meant to take him in this manner began to crop within him, trepidation, anxiousness, and a dread of the pain and humiliation he was about to be subjected to. Ramsay's eyes abruptly brimmed with tears unable to stop these irrational fears from running over him and plaguing him with an emotional response he was unable to hold back even though he knew that Sansa cared for him now and would be gentle.

The shift in Ramsay's demeanor Sansa picked up on immediately, and seeing his eyes glaze with tears made her stomach tighten with a sickness born in regret. How was she ever going to get Ramsay to enjoy this endeavor if she couldn't even get him to remain lucid and relaxed over completely traumatized? She stood on her knees in front of him and sat between Ramsay's own legs laying a hand on both of his upper thighs right above the knee. Ramsay erupted in an immediate tremor and the standing tears that pooled in his eyes spilled down his cheeks. Ramsay's lip trembled, and he ducked his chin to his chest letting go a small sniffle as his anxiety rose.

Sansa leaned down lightly kissing each knee as she rubbed gently up and down the length of his trembling thighs. She tutted softly, "Oh Ramsay, please don't cry. I swear that I will not hurt you." More tears spilled out of Ramsay's watchful eyes, and Sansa drew her arms around his knees in a hug as she rested her chin between them waiting a long moment before asking gently, "Do you trust that I will stop if what I am doing to you pains you?"

Ramsay's mouth contorted mournfully nodding his head yes; the heat of embarrassment he felt drew his gaze away, and as much as he wanted to refocus his vision upon Sansa, Ramsay found he couldn't bring himself to raise his bleary eyes to meet her. This only caused a squelched sob to warble from his chest as Ramsay covered his face in shame at the broken mess that he couldn't stop himself from becoming. Belatedly, Ramsay realized that Sansa had moved around beside him wrapping her arm around his shoulders to draw him bodily to her chest. She shushed him like one would shush an infant, "Calm yourself, Ramsay," her voice took on a hint of desperation, "Please. We can just lie here for a while. There is no rush. I didn't mean to make you feel so distraught." As Sansa spoke, she reached down to draw the blankets up to cover both of them pulling Ramsay gently down to lay with her protectively against her bosom.

Ramsay let her pull him to her as a sense of need for this treatment burgeoned though him in an unbridled want for this much denied human connection. His eyes leaked silent tears that pooled into the alcove between Sansa's breasts, and in response, Sansa drew him in tighter to kiss Ramsay lovingly on top of his head. Ramsay was grateful that Sansa wasn't forcing herself on him yet even though he'd conceded to yield to her in this way and she knew that physically he was healed enough to manage her. The fact that Sansa just held him instead made Ramsay feel far more vulnerable than he had moments ago when he'd desperately tried to prepare himself to take the invasion of her glass cock. Sansa had once more halted her desires just to comfort him, and this brought a wellspring of emotions to the surface that Ramsay couldn't handle and had no means to digest without feeling emotionally crippled. He had many things he wanted to say forming on the tip of his tongue, but Ramsay found his mouth stilled by an encompassing numbness that overwhelmed him. Instead he sniffled his incompetent verbalization shuttering out another wave of tears ever thankful for her compassion. He felt weak unabatedly crying in front of her like this, but being drawn in closer in such a loving manner only seemed to set loose a chain reaction within Ramsay setting his tears to flow in the wave her kindness afforded.

Sansa held Ramsay just listening to him softly sniffle, and somewhere in the midst of his tears she had begun to cry too feeling Ramsay's anguish acutely as she held him soothingly rubbing up and down Ramsay's arm. His pain brought to the surface now was due to abuse manifested by her own cruel treatment of him. She had thought he was moving past this point, but it seemed to take so little to bring Ramsay back to this broken state. Her fears were realized, she had damaged him so severely that it was going to take quite a bit of trust to bring Ramsay back from the trauma she'd instated within him. All she could do now was levy soft kisses upon the top of his head in an attempt to calm him, but the action unbeknownst to Sansa had only induced a further sense of loss in Ramsay that he had yet to grasp perpetuating the tears to reform and spill from him.

Subconsciously Ramsay had drawn his arm to clutch around Sansa's waist; a part of him had long since wanted to release this hurt he felt layered within himself over years and years, and to do so now was unburdening to such a degree that Ramsay couldn't comprehend other than to know it made his whole being feel lighter to have done so. Only after long minutes of Sansa's ministrations did Ramsay finally find the will to compose himself. Never would he have ever let himself fall unbidden to such emotions normaly, but there was something about Sansa that gave him a pass to just let go of these long bottled sensitivities; Ramsay couldn't find it in himself to deny this comfort that Sansa now offered him intrinsically.

Ramsay's breathing hitched into a contented sigh relaxing under the reassurance of Sansa's constant support. As he calmed, an overwhelming wash of humiliation filled Ramsay to know he'd let himself go to such a display of weakness in front of Sansa even though to do so had felt theraputic. He didn't speak upon it though only rhythmically breathing in and out lying upon her chest and quietly listening to the thrum of her heartbeat as the consoling feel of her hand drew up and down his arm; he didn't want this comfort to end. Ramsay noticed the way Sansa held him now and clasped Sansa tighter needing to grab hold of her like a lifeline. Sansa's own arm drew Ramsay into her more closely feeling his need and kissing him gently on top of his head once more in a loving fashion.

The two remained that way silently embracing without a word said for a long time until Sansa brought her other hand around to softly stroke Ramsay's face. She continued lightly petting him, pushing the stray hairs from his brow and drawing her slender fingers down and around his chin. She did this until she drew Ramsay's face up to look at her, and as he did his eyes reflected so much devotion that Sansa couldn't help a soft inaudible chuckle of gratitude that Ramsay would give this much of himself still knowing she'd taken from him and used him so readily. He forgave her still, wanted her still, and this forgiveness and want pained her now as she held his face bringing her lips down to passionately kiss him. She realized without a doubt that she did love Ramsay more than just for what he would let her do to him, but because he represented hope that together they could make each other better.


	33. Acquiescence

Chapter Thirty-Two

Acquiescence

The Umbers' Clydesdales lined the top of the hill pawing at the snow and snorting their urgency to proceed where their riders had halted to survey the scene below. All eyes were narrowed by the midday sun's reflection deflecting off the pristine freshly fallen blanket of white that covered the once bloodied battle field. It looked almost peaceful and unscathed outside of the remnants of large charred pyres and a surmountable body count of enemy and ally alike set in a row with a foot here and a beard there protruding from their snowy layers due to the bitter wind that blew across the expanse.

Matina glowered bitterly at Lumor stating with a growing frustration, "That sow thinks she's better than us! We could have cut down the trickle of waste their house has become right then and there for daring show us that kind of disrespect!"

Lamor never deigned to glance over at his sister seemingly lost in thought, but after a moment of silence he responded dryly, "It's not time yet to act. Dispatching the Starks is a price that we can't afford to pay. They have enough houses backing them now to form a formidable alliance, and to murder them in the wake of a parlay would be bad form."

"Bad form?" Matina stated chuckling incredulously as a deepening scowl formed upon her face, "Since when have you given a damn about bad form, Lamor?"

Matina's statement was enough to engage Lamor, and his head swiveled to face her with an aura of contempt rearing out of her reply, "SmallJon is dead. I have to take his place as eldest in line to succession of our house. These are not worries that 'you' will ever need face, but do remember some of us still bear the weight of our family's honor."

Lamor's words were intended to scathe, and Matina bared her teeth angrily in challenge, "Aye, you lead us right and proper, Lamor. I'm standing by watching you make a right cunt of us, and I'm sick to the gills to see it. I don't rightly give two shits if you want to play some long game with the Starks, but I do want to know what the fuck you plan to do to make it up to our people. In case you forget, our people are the ones that serve us and that really matter over defector Wildling sympathizers. Whatever airs you're putting on and game you're playing at isn't going to hold water if you don't have an answer to the shit storm you just waded through."

Lamor's lips pursed in agitation knowing Matina was right but not willing to state as much just to give her the benefit of the doubt. Instead, Lamor countered, "It's not your problem. Leave matters of import to me. Don't think I didn't observe the exchange you had with Lady Stark; I see what you're really getting at. It's not so simple as getting your blade wet over a little debate where you feel slighted, so for once in your damn life take a step back and let your betters assess the damage."

Matina's eyes narrowed hatefully at Lamor, but she didn't respond. When Lamor had made up his mind, he wasn't going to budge (even if he was plainly in the wrong.) This was an intercourse the two had shared since Matina was old enough to speak. Lamor always thought he was meant to be in charge, and now that he was given the reigns, it was obvious that he would argue against her no matter her stance on the matter. Matina was sure that with SmallJon expiring, Lamor had all kinds of ideas on the manner of how house Umber should be led, but she knew better. Let Lamor play at court; , there was always two ways to skin a dog after all. That bitch; Sansa wasn't going to speak to her in such a way without consequence of that much Matina planned to ensure.

Throughout this exchange, Jareth just listened on with clear amusement, and when Matina pulled her horse back and heatedly rode back up the hill in an obvious huff, he drew his horse over to sidle next to Lamor watching her go with a small cuckle, "YWell you sure stirred up a hornet's nest there!"

Lamor's expression flattened, "She'll get over it. We have more pressing matters to attend to."

Matina had not gotten over it, and with the fresh sting of Lamor's words etched in her mind, she galloped straight over to the maester who handled their messenger crows. She stopped short in front of the elderly man announcing brusquely, "You there! I have use of you!"

Blinking and wobbling to stand from the wagon he had been sitting in, the maester stood at attention to answer the call of his mistress, "Of course. What is it you need of me my lady?"

Matina straightened pausing as a cruel grin grew upon her face, "Maester, I have an urgent message that needs be sent to Moat Cailin. I wish for you to scribe word that we will gladly accept Lord Baelish's offer."

***…***

Ramsay and Sansa laid together in the same way for close to half an hour with Ramsay resting in the crook of Sansa's arm, his head upon her chest as Sansa's fingers lightly moved soothingly through his hair. Ramsay had brought his arm to hook around her ribcage after having drifted further down her waist only to have the phallus Sansa still wore remind Ramsay what she had planned for him. Ramsay's insides twisted as his eyes closed tightly to think on this act, and even though he was not currently internally sore, the sensations were well remembered like a spike of ice lancing open his memories in the horrific way that one feels most acutely in an exaggerated sense the past pains delivered upon them. Just the realization that their night was moving to this encounter had Ramsay on edge with dread, but the continued soft caresses over time allowed this fear to begin to fade into a complacence where his mind pushed all thoughts of enduring Sansa in that way away to just take in what he was currently experiencing.

He needed this gentle touch more than he had before, and every stroke she delivered let Ramsay sink further into himself. Throughout the time Sansa held him, Ramsay's tears would dry and renew as he went through a myriad of emotions trying to understand what was happening within him internally. Ramsay allowed himself to cry with her, Sansa was his sanctuary, and whereas this regression made Ramsay reel with a personal loathing, it was also giving him an intimate release to a side of himself that he'd buried so far down inside that he found it unrecognizable to be faced with its presence now.

Sansa listened to Ramsay's rhythmic breathing feeling on occasion the place where his face rested became damp with the tears he shed trailing down the curvature of her breast to disappear along the length of his arm that now limply held her. Ramsay did not quake or tremor nor did he mewl in despair his misery; the only indication given that he was still crying was the wetness left in the wake of Ramsay's tears and the intermittent small sniffs that exuded from his form while they lay together in the stillness of the room. Throughout, Sansa stared at the mantle transfixed by the flickering flames weeping candle wax in slow methodical drops; she compared the sight inwardly to the spilt tears she felt on her breast. Sansa said nothing more to Ramsay as an understanding blossomed that Ramsay needed to work this out for himself became clear; what Ramsay really required from her was to know that she was there with him as a shoulder to help him carry his burden. Sansa would stalwartly be that for Ramsay even though she wanted badly to probe him on the whys he would still feel so troubled. She desperately feared this reaction in Ramsay was from what she had done to him leading to a critical emotional break.

Sansa was partially right, but not for the same reasons she assumed. Grief, sorrow, fear, these were emotions that Ramsay had worked so hard to compress and hide to a point he no longer acknowledged they existed within him. It was self-medication to the pains he grew to expect in his life. No one had ever let him feel frail; his mother had drawn more distant and apathetic if he had cried, and his child mind had equated these feelings as detrimental. Heke had begged Ramsay to be strong, told him he 'had' to be strong to reach his potential and that to overcome the hurts he felt, Ramsay must vent them through lash upon his back. Roose had never said anything, but any moment that Ramsay projected such feelings, his father had shown him derision as a clear response that he needed to expel any form of weakness from the surface and become hard if he were ever to become a true Bolton.

With these lessons, Ramsay had learned to turn any fear or sadness into anger and cruelty, but Sansa had stripped that guise from him and with it the shackles that mask was built upon. Freed from these hollow expectations let a rush of reactions and sentiments to course through Ramsay unbidden, but in their wake, Ramsay was gaining a semblance to feel that he'd never allowed himself to experience before. In this way, he welcomed the tears as they represented an opened scar purging the infection of his stunted emotional growth that encompassed a new expansion to his perception. It was okay to be vulnerable, and for this too, Ramsay was thankful for Sansa's strength of will and character but mostly for her benevolence.

After a time, Ramsay did pull himself together, but he remained laying silently upon Sansa's chest a stirring of humiliation cropping within him that allowed prior uncertainties to eat at him. Ramsay chided himself assuming Sansa must think him anything but a man to be shedding tears so readily in front of her. It made his gut twist to contemplate Sansa seeing him as less than what he had always pictured himself to be; this rumination built a growing insecurity to the point it made Ramsay brave enough to lift his cheek from her bosom and timidly draw his eyes up to see exactly what expression would greet him. To Ramsay's relief, Sansa smiled brightly at his reemergence shifting her body onto her side to better take him in. Her open acceptance of him now spurred a grin to also spread across Ramsay's face.

Seeing Ramsay pull away from the bottled internal battle he'd been facing and grace her with a soft smile filled Sansa with elation. Ramsay was lucid and his eyes searched her for confirmation that they were still okay after his bout of silence and tears (as if he had anything to feel a need to rectify for feeling afraid after the damage she'd done to him.) Sansa grimaced at this thought reaching out to lightly brush her knuckles down the side of his nose clearing away the stubborn tear that had yet to dry. Her smile resurfaced quickly as Ramsay's eyes fixed her with worry. She stated softly maneuvering her hand back up across his brow and lovingly down the outlying contours of his face, "There you are; I missed you." As she said this, Ramsay's eyes turned to look down as a flush blossomed across his face coloring his cheeks and ears with his embarrassment. Ramsay liked when Sansa would touch him like this even if the reasoning of her doing so, in the act of wiping away his tears, sent waves of shame though him. Sansa's hand was gentle yet firm as she grasped his chin turning Ramsay's face back up and over to her; Ramsay didn't resist her pull letting Sansa's hand guide him back to her as he flicked his wide blue eyes back up to take her in with full attention. Sansa's smile grew as she rose from the pillow to meet Ramsay's gaze her thumb now lightly rubbing over his cheekbone.

Ramsay had lost his smile, his face flaccid and inquisitive wondering what Sansa would do next with him. Sansa's smile remained although it had diminished into a small curve that spoke of fondness as she continued to lock eyes with Ramsay inching nearer to bring their faces into a closer proximity. She leaned brushing her lips in a delicate kiss to the corner of Ramsay's eye followed by her drifting to the other side of his face to reflect the same sentiment beside his other eye. Ramsay's eye lashes fluttered in response to the tickle the sensation manifested, and an instant grin surfaced under Sansa's attentions. This reaction in Ramsay brought a beam of satisfaction to Sansa as she whispered warmly against Ramsay's ear, "I will always kiss away your tears if I can make you smile for me."

Ramsay blinked taking in her words as he brought his vision up to follow Sansa's movement. She pulled back leaving the same small intimate gap between them where they were almost touching but far enough away to take in each other's expressions. Ramsay was awestruck; Sansa always managed to leave him speechless. Ramsay deliberated over all the different aspects of Sansa that he saw appeal in; there was more than just her prettiness that was beautiful; gazing upon Sansa Ramsay had no words to describe how he felt other than to be brimming with a blissfulness that left him feeling more content than he'd ever felt in his life.

Was this love? The word love had meant so little to Ramsay, and his previous understanding of its meaning was not what he felt now. Ramsay was coming to realize he had no real idea what the word actually had stood for but he had an inkling that he might be starting to grasp that significance truly in the way taking Sansa in at this moment left him to feel. Every time he stared into Sansa's eyes, Ramsay was reminded why he had bent a knee and sworn fealty to her. Without even trying, Sansa took his breath away in a wave of prickling heat that sent the blood rushing to his face, and the world around him, around her… faded into the background like a waking dream he never wished to rise from.

Sansa's stomach fluttered seeing the adoration Ramsay poured upon her. Unable to stand the separation any longer, her lips found his kissing lightly just to connect with him physically and then more passionately as both lost themselves to the feelings they were bursting to share. Sansa glided away from Ramsay's lips following the curvature of his chin as her hand grasped Ramsay's neck. Ramsay let his head lull to the side as Sansa's mouth trailed down his neck in frenzied husky kisses that caused Ramsay's pulse to race and his own breathing to escalate. Sansa continued to drag her lips down to Ramsay's chest as the hand supporting his neck coaxed his body to fall back upon the pillow. Once Ramsay was flat on his back, Sansa's hand left her hold on his neck drifting down Ramsay's center to lightly grasp a hold on his hip as her mouth worked its way back up to find Ramsay's lips.

Throughout their kissing, Ramsay had grown erect, and the soft flesh at the underside of Sansa's arm rocking against and over the head of his hardened member made Ramsay's body shift about eagerly. Ramsay loved the feel of Sansa, her lips, her scent, her heat, her passion; the combined sensations she put upon him were overwhelming. Ramsay's head was spinning losing orientation to her ministrations as too many sensations coalesced for him to lock onto the pleasure caused by just one. Instead Ramsay basked in the entirety of the moment whimpering his need into her hungry mouth. Sansa pulled away gasping, bosoms heaving, and lips red-raw from the ferocious manner she'd devoured Ramsay's mouth.

Ramsay panted staring up to take in the once perfect braiding of Sansa's hair where many strands had long since escaped. The locks haphazardly framed her face displaying the primal urges that had overtaken them throughout the past couple hours. A rush coursed through him watching on as Sansa's eyes roved over his body; she wanted him, and Ramsay could feel her desire descending upon him encompassing him wholly like a heavy fog. Ramsay wanted Sansa to be happy, more than anything he wanted her pleasure. Gulping back the hard lump in his throat, Ramsay knew how best to give Sansa what she wanted and found himself shakily opening his legs. Sansa noted the action and even though there were no words giving indication what Ramsay was offering her now, it was read loud and clear.

Sansa's eyes widened in surprise taken back by the gesture; she had not expected this after what had just happened. Her gaze searched Ramsay as she queried hesitantly, "Are you sure?" Ramsay grimaced as a long pause moved between them before he finally hurriedly nodded as if to speak the words would give too much acceptance to the act. His acquiescence in this way had Sansa immediately leaning forward ardently kissing Ramsay several times over as a giddiness overtook her. Beaming with excitement, Sansa quickly snatched the flask from the nightstand wanting to take advantage of Ramsay's submission more than a little afraid that if she stalled Ramsay may suddenly change his mind.

He wasn't ready for this; why did he tell her he was ready for this? Alarm bells rang in Ramsay's mind only quieted by the pure look of delight Sansa exuded upon him for confirmation that she could proceed to have him in this way. Ramsay's legs shook with trepidation, but he did his best to mask the physical representation of the apprehension he felt. He would go through with this for her because this was what Sansa wanted most from him. She didn't force herself on him as she could, and this fact made it both easier and harder for Ramsay to process. If Sansa had just taken him (she had the ability and there would be nothing to prevent her from doing so if that was what she had wished) it would have taken the decision from Ramsay's hands, but Sansa made him be the deciding factor of his fate. There was a power in choice, but it was also damning to have to give consent to be penetrated by her phallus. Ramsay felt like less of a man imagining for a split second the ridicule so many would throw at him if they knew what he'd succumbed to, but this was an encounter shared with just him and Sansa, all others be damned. He would do it; he didn't have to like it, but if giving himself in this way got Sansa to climb the walls in ecstasy, it was a sacrifice Ramsay was willing to make.

Sansa never relinquished her gaze from Ramsay as she maneuvered around to sidle in between his legs. His eyes were wide and terrified, and his mouth was drawn in a tight line of apprehension. He had misgivings about what they were about to do, but Ramsay didn't pull away from her. With his head propped upon the pillow, his gaze traversed from meeting Sansa's stare down to the glass protrusion she now avidly stroked a fresh coat of the flask's substance upon it. Ramsay heaved a deep sigh closing his eyes to the scene trying to calm his nerves and make this easier on himself.

Ramsay found himself opening his eyes to the warm light caress of Sansa's other hand, it glided lovingly down his thigh petting him several times over from knee to hip. When Ramsay did finally draw his attention back to her face, Sansa smiled nervously down at him trying to give him some form of assurance but unsure if her attempts would make any impact to abate the cropping fear Ramsay exuded. This was a defining moment of how the two would proceed regarding this activity, and she would be damned if she wouldn't strike this anxiety from Ramsay if she were able. He would find some enjoyment before they concluded, Sansa would make sure of it.

Sansa bit her lip her cheeks flushing in desire to take in Ramsay spread invitingly before her. Her eyes remained locked to Ramsay's as she dipped her head slowly to his cock. Ramsay's mouth parted in surprise as Sansa began to trail soft kisses up the base of his shaft only leaning up after planting one more kiss upon the head of his penis. Sansa smiled devilishly down at him as Ramsay's member pulsed to life excitedly taking in the advances her mouth made upon him. Ramsay let out a defeated guttural groan as Sansa pulled away his brow furrowing in disappointment. Sansa's smile grew, "I take it you liked that? I plan to give you more, but first…" Sansa's hand slickened with oil brushed his balls as they dropped to the gap baring his vulnerable entrance.

Ramsay's cock immediately began to deflate, but Sansa grabbed a hold of it gripping the base tightly enough to make Ramsay gasp. Sansa began to slowly drag her hand up his shaft lessening her hold as she watched Ramsay intently. When Ramsay's muscles would stiffen, Sansa fondled him more lightly easing Ramsay's cock back to full standing. His eyes bulged and his abs rippled with every stroke Sansa delivered leaving Ramsay enraptured by the touches she graced him with. Once she had Ramsay captivated with what she was doing to his cock, Sansa proceeded to work one and then two fingers into him prodding gently until Ramsay finally stopped tensing to her ministrations. Ramsay grimaced when he felt her fingers enter him, but he concentrated on what Sansa was doing to his cock, and that helped to override the discomfort of being penetrated.

Ramsay was giving himself to her, and this gift made Sansa heady in a new way. Her insides pulsed seeing Ramsay so titillated by her attentions; Ramsay was submitting to her entering him as she'd been dreaming he would do for some time. Sansa pulled her fingers from him gliding her hand up and down her glass cock enjoying the feeling the movement tugging on her phallus generated within her; Sansa wanted nothing more than to shove its whole length into Ramsay to feel the warmth of colliding full into his hips. She knew from the pull of his insides fucking Ramsay created a pressure she'd only once indulged in; it was a sensation Sansa longed to feel again.

Ramsay involuntarily clenched before timidly relaxing as he felt the cold smooth head of Sansa's phallus bump against his entrance. "Relax, Ramsay," Sansa cooed, and Ramsay, letting out a deep breath, did his best to shut down the side of his mind that screamed vehemently in protest. Sansa continued the steady rise and fall of her hand on Ramsay's member although the distraction of her placing her own cock where she could easily enter Ramsay had him losing his erection. Sansa paused her forward momentum concentrating on his pleasure until Ramsay was once more stiff; Sansa continued to manipulate her hand in frenzied pulls that she could tell had Ramsay well riveted before easing past the rim and embedding the first inch of her cock inside.

Her hand had Ramsay's mind tossed into a flurry of enjoyment, and he barely registered the sensation of Sansa pushing into him until the phallus actually slid inside. Ramsay tensed then feeling the burn but worked to reduce the dread he felt and finally was able to relax as the pain began to ease although it did not stop feeling uncomfortable to have something so large inside of him. As promised Sansa continued to ease into Ramsay, and every time he stiffened, Sansa stopped pushing remaining motionless while still embed in Ramsay's ass and fondling his cock. The next push brought Sansa to penetrate Ramsay with her phallus halfway. Ramsay gasped in pain, and Sansa answered his dismayed call by backing out a little as she continued pumping his cock, "Is that better?" Sansa asked worriedly, and Ramsay nodded taking in ragged breaths as a response.

This process continued until Ramsay felt something else less painful and more puzzling. Sansa had almost put the entire length of her toy in him by this point, and as she manipulated deft fingers over his shaft, he'd done his best to only take in those sensations and to let the ones in his backside fall into the background. A curious thing happened then as inwardly Sansa's phallus brushed across Ramsay's prostate sending an electric jolt to course through the entirety of his body. Ramsay's eyes widened as his mouth parted in an audible moan as it happened again every thrust Sansa impaled him with. His brow furrowed in worry as the sensation continued to build. Could he actually like this? Ramsay didn't know, but it no longer felt so bad physically even if the thought of taking pleasure in such an act made a part of Ramsay inwardly cringe.

As every inch slowly slipped inside of Ramsay, his every jolt and spasm ricocheted through Sansa causing her internal muscles to squeeze the bulb and soak up the vibrations delightedly. The feelings and sights had her own juices flowing and the folds of her vulva swelling in response, and when Sansa saw the look Ramsay affixed her with, it drove a carnal side within her to thrust a little faster and deeper. She felt Ramsay then, her flesh meeting his, and he'd moaned. Ramsay hadn't told her to stop, and instead seemed to be twitching in time with her thrusts. This revelation has Sansa pulsing to both the inner sensations of the suction and pull shared between their merging bodies and the inner euphoria that she was tapping into something Ramsay's own body was reacting too. She was leaning over him now catching every delicious little whimper and groan that escaped Ramsay's throat.

The sounds he made now had raised an octave, and Ramsay's eyes stared at her with an edging desperation as he fought back the want to cum like this. He didn't want this, but it was too late. Ramsay couldn't stop the urges that brokered no resistance, and he cried out as his semen sprayed across Sansa's rapidly pumping fist and onto his stomach. His insides rippled from his climax throbbing around Sansa's glass cock and intensifying the orgasm rocking through him tenfold.

Seeing Ramsay buck about and cum for her was all Sansa needed to push her over the edge to thrust in and out riding Ramsay's own orgasm until she felt her own release shortly after his. She keened a shrill moan as she pressed herself fully in grabbing Ramsay's hips tightly as she gyrated out the last ebbing pulses heaving from the exertion and letting herself collapse on to Ramsay's chest. They were both panting heavily from the endeavor. Ramsay wiggled uncomfortably under Sansa as she had yet to pull out of him; he hoped his movements would be enough to cue her in to the fact, but instead, Sansa took the movement to mean Ramsay was ready for another go. Sansa certainly was, and she began working in and out of Ramsay clutching him tightly to her as her hips thrust her rebuilding desire for a second round.


	34. Interval

I apologize in advance that this is a bit of a shorter chapter, but it just felt like a good place to make a chapter break. Hopefully you still enjoy! As always, comments let me know you're digging the story! For every comment shared gives this author giddy smiles! =D

Chapter Thirty-three

Interval

Ramsay grimaced as he felt Sansa working herself around inside of him understanding immediately that Sansa wasn't finished with him in this way. His orgasm had subsided, and with the loss of sexual euphoria came the familiar panic Ramsay felt regarding this activity. It began to ripple through him like a rising tide leaving Ramsay unsure how to react. Seeing Sansa so excited was appealing, and he wanted to continue enduring this for her, but the discomfort from being stretched and prodded after his release made him feel everything being done to him much more acutely. He felt an immediate sense of losing control that he couldn't tear his mind away from, and unable to quietly brave it any longer, Ramsay murmured urgently, "Lady Sansa I…" he started, but his words broke collapsing in his throat. He was unable to wholly articulate his internal want to flee from the invasion she continued to put upon him and was unsure how best to express his distress without ruining the moment.

Ramsay didn't have to, what words he had stumbled out were enough for Sansa to take heed of her senses and still. She lifted her head in alarm to take in Ramsay's expression realizing instantly that she was overstepping her bounds. Her face contorted apologetically; Ramsay was no longer enjoying what she was doing as she'd assumed from his gyrations. No, he was very much feeling the opposite Sansa quickly realized taking in how his brow crinkled in worry, and a wave of strain amplified from his countenance. Sansa lifted herself from Ramsay's chest and pulled back her hips to ease her glass cock out, and Ramsay gasped in relief as his body shuttered from the sudden expelling.

Sansa apologized in a nervous gush, "I got a little carried away misreading your movements to be pleasure not soreness; forgive me." Ramsay's eyes fluttered as the feeling of no longer having her phallus inside of him settled the fear that had begun to fester within him. He had fretted that Sansa would ignore his incoherent plea and continue taking from him to fulfill the need still burning within her. He had been almost sure that Sansa would respect his wish to stop, but Ramsay still remained affected from the previous wounds done leaving a small part of him that couldn't help but to have his doubts. He stared at Sansa now taking in her troubled expression; it felt surreal to have such concern continuously directed at him from her. It colored Ramsay's feelings towards Sansa with a renewed sense of trust and reverence stronger than which he had felt towards her before. Realizing that he'd left her statement hanging in the air, Ramsay quickly blurted, "You've nothing to forgive. No harm was done. I… I was besieged into inaction when I should have spoken sooner," Ramsay's lip curved upward into a small grin and his brow lifted signifying that that the relationship had not been injured.

Seeing Ramsay's reaction left an immediate alleviation to flow through Sansa as she smiled back at him brightly, "Good; I'm glad to hear that." She pulled her attachment out of herself and inched off the bed giving Ramsay a shy smile, "I'm going to go wash up; I'll be back shortly with a washcloth for you," she didn't wait for a response as she hurried across the cold stone floor towards the tub. Ramsay watched her go feeling a small stirring in his loins fixating on the way her hips and flanks shook in that distinctive grace that a woman portrays. Having cum twice rather recently though, Ramsay was feeling mostly sated, and his cock did not rise to attention although a rush of blood did make him inflate and twitch slightly in response to the visually appealing image.

In Sansa's absence, Ramsay's thoughts drifted back to the events that had just transpired; he didn't know how to feel about what Sansa had done to him. On one level the fact that she had gotten him off multiple times was very sexually pleasing, but the way she had attained that goal left Ramsay feeling somewhat queasy to accept. He wanted to deny that his body had responded positively to Sansa stimulating something internally while penetrating him deeply, and that when he'd climaxed that continued sensation had sent shockwaves of gratification through him that he'd never known. Between what Sansa had been doing to his member and the probing within, the combined effort had brought about an orgasm that had left Ramsay almost unbearably sensitive. It had pulled everything from his balls, no forced everything from his balls with no restraint. He could not have held back if he'd tried (and he had!) The feeling had left him mentally stunned and lost to the rapture of the moment.

Now that it was all said and done, Ramsay's ego swirled about poking holes of resistance and rejection to the idea that he should or could have enjoyed what Sansa had done to him. His mind reasoned that no man should like such deviancy done to his person, and that it had to have been other factors at play to have brought him to such euphoria. His earlier convictions to damn what others would think came flooding back upon him, and suddenly the thought of anyone else knowing what Ramsay had given Sansa reaped a bout of shame upon him that colored his cheeks crimson. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Sansa's feet padding back across the floor towards the bed, and his startled gaze shot up to take her in as if she'd snuck up on him.

Sansa's brow crinkled in curiosity to see this reaction in Ramsay as she slid her glass piece back into the nightstand holding out a moistened washrag for Ramsay to take. She queried quizzically, "Are you alright?" Ramsay blinked regaining his composure as he nodded grimacing lightly as he grabbed the proffered washcloth that Sansa offered him. He cleared his throat as he stated brusquely, "Yes. I'm fine." Ramsay was sullen evading Sansa's gaze by busying himself with the task of wiping his chest and stomach clean before tentatively dabbing at his sore entrance still tender from Sansa's ministrations.

Sansa frowned at Ramsay's tone as she countered briskly, "You don't sound fine. I'm not a mind reader, Ramsay; if something is bothering you, spit it out." The harshness of Sansa's reply sent a prickle of fear through Ramsay who realized quickly that he was moving into dangerous territory with her. He paused taking in the possible threat while processing her statement concluding that he wasn't really upset with Sansa; he couldn't be since he had given her a pass to do what she willed with him. No, he was letting his pride swell and create a rift between them; Ramsay didn't want that either. He was at a loss to how he felt, and the confusion painted his face in misery as he shook his head, "I have nothing to say."

Sansa sighed tiredly taking in his expression unsure herself how to proceed from his response. Silently, Sansa maneuvered back into the bed and began drawing the sheets back up and over the both of them as Ramsay flung the used rag upon the floor. Once the two were covered, Sansa sidled up next to Ramsay who remained flat on his back staring at the ceiling. She stared at Ramsay a long moment trying to discern what he was thinking and how best to approach him when he was obviously feeling vexed. Her hand reached out stroking the side of Ramsay's face gently, and Ramsay's attention finally turned fully to her although his expression was an unreadable mix of discouragement and uncertainty. His eyes softened to her touch though melting to the attention and listening raptly as Sansa softly spoke, "You don't have to say anything, Ramsay. I can tell you are conflicted; I may not know from exactly what, but I can assume that it revolves around us and what we have done here," Sansa's features twisted to concern as she questioned pointedly, "I didn't hurt you did I?"

Ramsay's own mien shifted as he shook his head, "No, that's not it. I… you didn't hurt me." He grunted in frustration as he grumbled, "I don't know the words for how I'm feeling. I'm not very good at these sort of talks," Ramsay lost eye contact staring down into the sheets scowling for his lack of being able to communicate what he really wanted to say. Sansa cupped Ramsay's chin bringing his face back up to hers and gracing him with a tender smile, "That's okay. We can work on that. For now, why don't we get a little rest and speak on it later. I don't know about you, but I'm rather exhausted from this day's events and would enjoy taking a respite with you by my side."

Ramsay's eyes widened at yet another show of trust Sansa was granting him with an offer to sleep in her bed by her side. His frown disappeared instantly replaced by a wide flash of white as he replied cheerfully, "I would like that very much, my lady." Sansa was pleased to see Ramsay seemed happy again, and it propelled her to lean in and kiss him lovingly as Ramsay responded in kind. Sansa wrapped her arm around Ramsay's chest possessively tugging his body closer and pulling Ramsay onto his side while Sansa spooned her own frame to mold around his. Sansa's grip grew tighter around Ramsay as she kissed his shoulder, back, and neck finally settling herself comfortably in the nape of his neck. Ramsay didn't mind Sansa's aggressiveness here, and in fact, he inwardly welcomed the attention basking in the covetous hold she held him in. It felt good to be wanted and embraced. Ramsay took in a deep breath letting it out slowly as his eyelids drooped lulled by the warmth he felt from both Sansa's body and the closeness this connection generated. To be nestled like this was a different kind of warmth that spread through Ramsay's being and left all his nerves tingling with a sense of calming that put all other reservations he had felt moments ago out of mind completely. Ramsay wanted to be nowhere else than in this moment here and now.

Sansa snuggled Ramsay with small intermittent squeezes expressing her fondness for him as the two fell into silence once more. This time the quiet they shared was not filled with an unease as to where Ramsay and she stood and how their intended encounter would pan out. Sansa had been so afraid that what she wanted was not destined to work out, that Ramsay would not fold to her ambitions to have him in the way she'd most desired, but he had. Sansa had observed Ramsay in the throes of their shared passion, and she could see the longing he had exuded for her. Sansa had been invigorated by it, and to see it in Ramsay's face as she worked inside of him had made it more than worth taking her time to gain the reward of Ramsay giving himself willingly to her.

Her mind now drifted over the past couple weeks thinking on all that had brought them to forge this relationship and how very unlikely it was to have occurred at all. The mere thought of it weeks prior would have been absurd, laughable even, but now it was a reality. With this development, there was much to consider in the coming days, but from the alarming start to her day, a ten-day ride across the expanse of the North, the harried visit with Ramsay's mother, a standoff with the Umbers, and a long sexual foray, Sansa was physically and mentally depleted. Her last thoughts wandered over the scent of her oils that still clung richly to Ramsay's fair skin and how pleasant it was to clutch his body tightly to her own. It didn't take long before both had fallen fast asleep.

***…***

A sharp knock rang through the chamber, and both lovers were abruptly roused. The light had fled from the sky leaving the barest traces of shrinking daylight fading over the hillside, and it took a moment to orient herself as Sansa blinked away the fog of sleep. She felt Ramsay shifting beneath her fully alert to the intrusion, and she laid a hand on his shoulder to still his momentum to rise from the bed, "Stay here; I will see who has come." Ramsay had peered back at her over his shoulder as she'd addressed him, and Sansa smirked giving him a quick peck on the cheek before rolling out of the bed. The chill in the air had increased, and Sansa made haste grabbing her robe from the bed's post to wrap it about her tightly as another knock resonated through the room a little more loudly. Sansa bounded to answer the door feeling a sense of urgency from the summons.

Creaking the door, Sansa peered out with a bit of annoyance and apprehension; it wasn't many who would come to disturb the lady of the keep in her bed chambers. Seeing whom it was though, Sansa smiled, "Jon!" Jon seemed immediately relieved to see Sansa appear; when she hadn't answered the first couple soft raps on the door, he had knocked on the door harder and then harder yet still. He and Ramsay had come to an understanding, but the liberties Sansa was taking with Ramsay now were more than dangerous if the man had been pulling the wool over their eyes. It was a possibility that Jon could not deny, and as much as he wanted to believe Ramsay was changing, there was many atrocities Ramsay had committed that sent waves of anxiety through Jon knowing Sansa was alone with him unmonitored and unhindered.

Jon had been informed when the evening shift guards had come to relieve Cecil and Temeric from their post that neither they nor the prisoner was in the dungeon. It hadn't taken much to discern where Sansa had taken Ramsay, and Jon had simply led the guards to Sansa's chamber door where they were debriefed and filled in on the current standing and orders given from Lady Sansa. Jon had not stayed long enough to hear any of the details not wanting to know more than he had to regarding the awkward sexual relations the two were embarking upon. Jon had made a point though to stop by the kitchens to inform them to set the secluded dining table he and Ramsay had made a ritual of eating at nightly for three. His worries abated seeing his sister greet him, and Jon smiled back warmly, "I'm sorry if I've disturbed you. I came to inform you that I've had the servants prepare a small fair for us in the study."

Sansa beamed her gratitude, "That sounds wonderful; I'm quite famished," her brow furrowed as she thought of Ramsay, "When you say us, did you wish for it to be just you and I?" Jon answered plainly, "No, I hadn't dismissed the idea that you may wish to talk privately, but I had thought it would be best after we break bread. Ramsay and I… we have been dining together in your absence," Jon finally smiled, "I'm glad to have you home safely."

Sansa's brow rose in amusement, "Thank you Jon; it's more than good to be home. We will make ourselves ready and join you in the study soon." Jon gave a simple nod of acknowledgement before turning to leave. Sansa's grin widened as she shut the door; she hadn't expected this bit of news and was growing more and more curious as to what exactly Jon and Ramsay had spent their time together doing while she was away. She had been surprised at Jon's earlier statement regarding Ramsay and he getting along so well. Much had transpired in a short amount of time, and she had wanted to see Ramsay badly, so the conversation had not been elaborated on. The more Sansa was learning though, the more eager she was to personally see the two interact. Since taking back the keep, neither Stark had been in the room with Ramsay together, so dinner was sure to be interesting.


	35. Hurdles

We are getting to the dinner next I promise! LOL! Sorry, I ramble you know :P As always, if you like what you're reading, drop me a comment, and let me know! Just a few words goes a long way :)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Hurdles

Ramsay's body tensed to the shrill pounding on the door, and his immediate reaction was to leap from the bed to answer it. This impulse faded with Sansa's firm hand on his shoulder and lightly given command. His senses solidified, and Ramsay remembered where he was and regretfully, who he was. It wasn't his place to attend the call; these were not his chambers, and he was not a lord in this keep any longer. In fact, he was no longer a lord at all. It came back to haunt him how this definition continuously morphed and warped as he and Sansa's relationship fluctuated into something else equally difficult to define. But, unlike before this night, Ramsay no longer doubted that Sansa had true feelings for him as that which he held for her. Ramsay had found himself questioning his own convictions even after the events they'd shared in the tub and bed had made Sansa's want and care for him quite clear. It wasn't until their sexual bout had ended and Ramsay laid secure drifting to sleep in Sansa's sweet embrace did he let go his fear that these sentiments he was grasping at were not just figments of his own imagination.

The hope and desire to feel loved had been buried by a frightened child and boarded over by a malignance that guarded Ramsay's heart. It had been much easier to be cruel and make others hurt than to allow weaknesses of the soul to take root. Delivering suffering meant no one questioned you because they feared you, and fear commanded respect and compliance. Ramsay had liked these responses when dealing with others; these interactions assuaged some social gratification within Ramsay, but it never sated him. Ramsay could demand and cajole almost any action or response from his victims once he'd broken them down, but that control had never given Ramsay what he really wanted. He had convinced himself on some level that in his mastery of dominating his Theon made Reek, he had induced true devotion over terror in the man, but now Ramsay knew the difference.

The difference was not in pretty words nor tender caresses as Ramsay's insecurities had prodded him to speculate that Sansa's touches may just amount to an infatuation that would pass when she grew weary of him. Hearts of women were fickle after all, but Sansa was like no woman he had ever known. What had finally settled Ramsay's mind had been waking in Sansa's arms and listening to the even keel of her breathing. She had been soundly asleep, and when Ramsay had shifted, Sansa had clutched him tighter nuzzling him closer into a heaving sigh of contentment. Her affection even in sleep spoke volumes; she was comfortable enough with him to sleep, and that meant on some level that Sansa trusted him.

Trust was something Ramsay had rarely felt from anyone and certainly not from anyone who knew him intimately. To their credit, Ramsay hadn't earned true trust because of the duplicitous nature he flaunted, but it didn't mean that he had not craved to feel it. Roose had always held Ramsay at arm's length attesting that even though they were blood, there was a fine line drawn in the sand between them. This was the Bolton way; treachery had run rampant for generations creating fractures throughout their family tree leaving isolated pockets of kin that might as well have been disavowed as there were none left to legitimately make a claim on the house's title.

Myranda was bold and accepting of anything that Ramsay would do to her, but there was always something in her eyes that was wary of betrayal. She wasn't afraid of him, but she also didn't trust Ramsay not to forsake her loyalty. Myranda had been right to withhold that from him as Ramsay wouldn't have recognized or appreciated it in her then if he had, and if anything, Ramsay would have seen it as a means for further amusement. What had changed? Ramsay hadn't fully pieced that together, but he knew it well enough that it soothed and mended something within him. The peace he felt led him to drift back to sleep with a teeming sensation of fulfillment that let Ramsay sleep more peacefully than he'd ever remembered.

The resonating boom from the door had jarred them both awake, and Ramsay hadn't correlated exactly what was going on until Sansa was already heading off towards the door. He frowned at the feeling of vacancy behind him displeased by the interruption but equally curious as to who the visitor was. Sansa had announced who had come to see her in her greeting, and Ramsay strained to hear their conversation picking up dinner, that it was to be with the three of them, and little else. It was enough to set his stomach to growl at the prospect, but as hungry as he was, the thought of dining with both Sansa and Jon was sending Ramsay's mind to race. It wasn't that he felt uncomfortable at the notion of dining with the two of them, but both relationships were a very different dynamic that left Ramsay to feel a tad discombobulated.

It wasn't long until this line of thought led back to Sansa's absence and all that had taken place in the time she was away. By Sansa's reaction and the words stated upon seeing the discoloration of his bottom, Ramsay knew that those events had obviously not been discussed at all with Jon. Ramsay's throat went dry, and suddenly he very much did feel uncomfortable with the coming arrangement and what topics may arise. His head snapped to attention seeing the conversation had concluded and Sansa shut the door and was turning back to face him with a brimming smile. Ramsay's eyes widened with anticipation of what he already knew Sansa was about to disclose, and his mind immediately began working at the prospect of whether or not to try and avoid dinner altogether by lying and saying he wasn't hungry. No, even if he did sidestep the awkwardness of a possible faux pas regarding the past couple weeks, it would leave Ramsay both hungry and unable to do anything but think on what 'could' be talked about in his absence. It was a no-win situation, but one that out of the two choices, being a witness to his own downfall was preferable to being blindsided by it later. Besides, Sansa already proclaimed that she planned to spank him for his transgressions, so what could it hurt to at least have the possibility to defend himself?

Sansa's smile was infectious, and even with all the turmoil that swirled through Ramsay's thoughts to see Sansa regarding him so positively brought his own lips to mimic her pleasure. She strode back over to the bed, and Ramsay watched her graceful stride mentally captivated by her approach and sitting up to meet her. Sansa stated simply, "That was Jon; he came to inform us that a meal has been prepared, so we need to ready ourselves." Glancing at the crumpled mess of clothes Ramsay had left on the floor she declared offhandedly, "I will have a servant fetch you a fresh change of clothes. It's cold, so you can remain under the covers until they arrive."

Staying cozy under the covers was not anything Ramsay wished to argue as he grinned roguishly, "Will you be joining me while I wait for said clothes?" Sansa smirked eyes brightening at the suggestion although she didn't respond to Ramsay with more than a devious grin saying without words that his offer was ideal. Sansa sauntered back over to the chamber's door opening it long enough to give the command to have Ramsay's clothing brought up to her chambers, wardrobe cabinet and all. Would he be sleeping in the lady's chambers from here on out? Ramsay was surprised and definitely not unhappy to hear this delightful turn of events. He hadn't seen this coming, but it served to set a joyfulness about him that had Ramsay grinning from ear to ear. Just yesterday his sleeping arrangements consisted of being chained to a mattress in the dungeon; things were certainly panning out much better than he'd anticipated they could with Sansa's return home. He could be making assumptions too early Ramsay considered as Sansa may just wish to have his clothes ready for purview and selection at her fingertips, but he hoped the latter was not the case as he wished very much to remain by Sansa's side to wake in her arms as he'd done earlier.

Ramsay was disappointed that Sansa did not make her way back over to climb in bed with him and instead moved to the armoire where she sifted through the choices available pulling away an emerald green evening gown from its hallows. The color was exquisite, and the embroidered black lacing was of an intricate design that reminded Ramsay of interlacing snowflakes. It was well tailored and formal but not overdone like a dress one would wear to a party. Ramsay was transfixed watching her ready herself and taking in each small detail as Sansa settled her robe on the hook protruding outside the cabinet and quickly slid the dress over her form. Normally a servant would be present to affix each clasp, without one present, Ramsay offered to help her, "You needn't wait for the chamber maid; I have nimble fingers." Ramsay left his words to hang in the air as Sansa turned to consider him.

A haunted expression ghosted over Sansa's features as the memory of Ramsay ripping her wedding dress from her flashed through her mind in a vivid jolt. The memory faded as quickly as it had surfaced, but the rippling sensation of uneasiness remained like an echo. Sansa stared at Ramsay for a long moment swallowing down the uncomfortable feeling as the rationality of what he was offering her now did not correlate with those old fears. It was time to set new memories over the scars and move forward. Ramsay was doing the same with her in different ways, and just as he was forging a new foundation from the abuse she'd heaped upon him, Sansa had to in turn be strong enough to push past points like these where she would be confronted by recollections of Ramsay's old sins. It was easier in theory than it was in reality, but Sansa forced her smile back in place giving Ramsay a small nod as she glided over to the bed and turned her back to him.

Ramsay had not read anything into Sansa's subtle shift in demeanor covered by her thin smile and wordless acknowledgement, and when goosebumps trailed up and across the skin of her back, Ramsay had only assumed the chill in the air was the culprit over the gentle maneuvering of his fingertips up her gown. Sansa mentally tracked every movement the digits made up the length of her spine; Ramsay had started gently with her then to before he'd turned to savagely rape her. So lost had Sansa become in the act that she had barely realized Ramsay had finished the task and was standing nakedly behind her. His warmth radiated into her skin like that of a cozy den fire, and his hands hovered lightly over the fabric drawing across her shoulders intimately. Sansa ventured to peer back at him now observing the way Ramsay's eyes took in her dress as he dutifully smoothed out the wrinkles. She observed that his own frame shook ever so slightly as an aftereffect of the wind whipping in through the open window and the room's fire growing dim from lack of tending.

This image erased Sansa's disquiet instantly as she turned to face Ramsay giving him a true smile once more, "Thank you, Ramsay." Sansa reached around behind him pulling the covers up as she continued, "You're cold and without dress; please, climb back into bed until you've been brought something fitting to wear. I will have the shutters drawn and the fire stoked while we sup." Ramsay smiled appreciatively; he liked when Sansa showed she cared, and he was more than willing to let her usher him back under the inviting furs to escape the winter's bitterness from ravaging him further. Instinctively, Sansa found herself tucking the covers around Ramsay tightly as she had grown up doing every night alongside her mother with her younger siblings. This too caused Sansa to smile, but it was a sad one due to the reminder of her fragmented family.

Nothing in her life was the same, but it wasn't all bad. She leaned down to kiss Ramsay tenderly on the forehead watching his eyes flutter closed and reopen to continue watching her curiously with wide bule eyes. The way Ramsay gazed upon her now Sansa often thought was peculiar with it's almost childlike wonder. It was true that he regarded her with new eyes, they both had changed to view the other in a new light, but Ramsay was more than taken by the nurturing mannerisms Sansa displayed towards him. His disposition shifted radically whenever she bestowed such attentions upon him hanging off every word and action Sansa made like that of one drawing in air after almost drowning. Sansa was reminded of the miller's wife then and the dingy hovel where the clay walls were decorated in gouged grooves caused by small desperate hands longing to be free from isolation and neglect. She hadn't recognized the extent Ramsay required such attentions until she'd witnessed his humble beginnings and understood what he'd been sorely lacking for a lifetime.

Ramsay's brow furrowed noting the sadness in Sansa's eyes, "What's wrong?" He asked worriedly, and Sansa shook her head, "Nothing, Ramsay. I get lost in thought sometimes…" Ramsay's brow remained drawn down, and Sansa laid a gentle patting hand on his chest stating reassuringly, "It's nothing, really. I need to freshen up a bit. Stay here and relax; your outfit should be up shortly." Ramsay frowned as Sansa turned quickly to move to the other side of the room where the vanity stood. He felt there was something amiss, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It left Ramsay feeling a wave of helplessness unsure what to do with this feeling other than to remain where Sansa had left him and observe her taking down her hair from afar.

Sansa sat on the small stool as she began to unravel each tendril working to compose herself from the myriad of feelings coursing through her that left her stomach to jitter in their wake and a barely noticeable tremble to her hands. She was far enough away that Ramsay could not perceive the tremors that leaked unbidden from her figure, but Sansa detected them acutely, and their presence harried her to the core. She observed Ramsay through the mirror; his eyes still watching her avidly; his expression reminded her of a forlorn puppy abandoned out in the rain to have left him alone. Sansa couldn't help but to smile at Ramsay's expression feeling a glow of fondness swell through her to have him want to be with her so badly. It was endearing, and Sansa found she rather liked being wanted by him as much as he liked being wanted by her.

A soft rap notified both that the servants had arrived, and Sansa rose spinning to face the door as she announced permission for them to enter. The door was opened quietly by one of the night shift guards, and two sturdy male servants hefted the wardrobe that had been in the room Ramsay had occupied previously and now emptied of its contents. Sansa pointed to the space beside her armoire, "Place it beside the other one there." The men dutifully shifted in the direction to accommodate their lady's wishes as four other female servants filed in behind them carrying bundles of Ramsay's finery to replace within the closet once the men had situated it in its new place. This was handled seamlessly and quietly as Sansa returned back to the vanity to finish brushing out her hair. By the time they had replaced all the items within the drawers and filed out, Sansa was ready having left her hair down but the sides twisted into delicate braids to keep her hair pinned away from her face.

Ramsay rose to meet Sansa with a beaming smile happy that Sansa's attention was moving back to him. He was selfish in this regard wanting all of her attentiveness, but Sansa didn't mind or notice enjoying giving him her attention. She grinned thinking on the fact that she would be the one to pick what he would wear from now on. Ramsay wasn't a doll for Sansa to play dress up with, but she doubted Ramsay minded letting her choose the outfit that would best compliment her dress (or at least she firmly told herself this.) She suspected that he might even prefer that she pick it for him because it was something that she would be doing for him specifically. This too, Sansa did not mind as it complimented her want to make an ensemble out of their dress and allowed her further ideas on what clothing she planned to stitch for him in the coming days. Unlike many of her siblings who may or may not wear the items she made for them, Ramsay would wear them because that was what she wished him to wear.

As Sansa's thoughts churned on these plans, she'd made her way to the new dresser and had begun sifting through the clothing. She grimaced noting that almost all of Ramsay's clothing even his finery was black or brown with red inlays. Most of his clothing was obviously from before he'd become a lord officially and the material was scratchy and stiff. These would not due for more than labor intensive work Sansa decided quickly separating them from the few outfits meant for nobles that Ramsay owned and placing them in the lowest drawer of the armoire. As she maneuvered through the outfits, Sansa recognized that more than half of Ramsay's finery had belonged to Roose Bolton and that Ramsay must have laid claim to them after his death. Almost all bore the insidious flayed man regalia stitched somewhere on the clothing (to which would be the first thing Sansa decided would be removed before Ramsay would wear them in her presence.) She wanted the man, but she wanted nothing to do with the Bolton insignia.

Her hands paused reaching the piece of finery that she knew she was bound to uncover here but to which Sansa still did not feel wholly prepared to see again. Another reminder of their wedding night, the black suit had never been worn outside of that night, and to see it now brought an instant frown to Sansa's face and a prickle of rage at the loss it made her feel. She shut her eyes to it, and Ramsay who had been silently watching on beside Sansa as she'd explored the wardrobe felt the wave of tension swell between them. Ramsay backed away a couple steps with heart racing as his gaze penetrated the back of Sansa's head with a silent plea to forget even though he knew that wasn't ever going to be possible. He felt numb with apprehension hating how his stomach flipped and tightened as he awaited a coming storm, but Sansa did something unexpected as she let go a deep sigh and removed the articles from the armoire turning to face Ramsay and holding the outfit out to him.

Ramsay's eyes widened swallowing hard as he gingerly reached out to tentatively take the items from her. He stumbled out with sudden disbelief, "You… you wish me to wear this?" Sansa's face was stony as she nodded once, "I do. It's the only ensemble you currently own that doesn't display the blood stain of your former house while still being fit to wear to dinner. I plan to overhaul much of the clothing you have in the coming days, but this will do for now." Sansa had chosen Ramsay's wedding attire for more than just this though; Ramsay had wronged her wearing those articles, and Sansa had promised Ramsay that he would still receive punishment from her before the night's end. Once their dinner concluded and they'd retired for the night, she would make good on that promise. It sent a warmth between her legs to think of taking Ramsay in hand while he wore the outfit he'd defiled her in. There was something satisfying to know that he would be squirming and wriggling on her lap to make a much-needed new memory with this same finery. She had been of half a mind to forgo the discipline entirely, but Sansa knew that in all things concerning punishment with Ramsay that she had to follow-through and remain predictable, and with Ramsay wearing this outfit in particular, the sight of it would help give Sansa the incentive needed to punish Ramsay after having given him her word that she would do so.

The look on Sansa's face left Ramsay feeling on edge watching her as he carefully laid the shirt on the wardrobe door and began donning his pants. Sansa scrutinized the activity closely keeping her mien practically expressionless outside of obvious interest in exactly how Ramsay fastened the article to his body. All the better for her to be able to take them down or better yet, she would have him do it for her, so she could watch Ramsay unveil himself to her. Sansa's nipples hardened at the prospect and she found herself swallowing a rising lump in her throat as a wave of desire washed through her. Why was the thought of punishing Ramsay turning her on so much? She had fantasized about how Ramsay tightened his abs and thighs and the way his pert ass had jostled on her lap. It had been quite visually and physically appealing to see and feel, but there was more to spanking Ramsay that caused Sansa's face to flush in heated embarrassment and guilt.

Sansa liked dominating Ramsay, and although she would never punish him without him deserving it, she couldn't say that it was wholly just for his benefit. Delivering pain was a directive of her influence over him, but the moment they had shared afterward had resonated with Sansa most. She had been able to address their problems and once they'd cleared the air she'd felt both were emotionally at peace. It was a reconciliation where Ramsay revealed his vulnerability to her in a way that felt cleansing as a release not of sorrow but of unburdening. Ramsay had let Sansa be his strength clutching her tightly, and Sansa welcomed the well of intimacy that providing this to Ramsay gave.

Her eyes had softened as Sansa's thoughts drew upon these memories, and Ramsay slipped his shirt on over his head leaving all that was left for him to be fully dressed was to have the back cinched to his form. Sansa moved silently behind Ramsay straightening his shirt into place and turning Ramsay bodily to face the stand-up mirror, so she could see both his front and back as she further adjusted the shoulders. Ramsay stood rigidly at attention staring at her through the mirror all the while curious as to her thoughts since her expressions were mercurial throughout the exchange. He sucked in a breath as Sansa gave the tassels hanging behind him a rough tug jerking his body backwards into her from the effort. Ramsay's eyes widened in surprise as he cleared his throat, "I… I think that's tight enough."

Sansa regarded him coolly through the mirror taking a step closer, so that she now loomed over his shoulder as her hands petted down his arms affectionately. She responded impassively, "Yes, I think so." Sansa stared at him a moment longer as a predatory grin grew across her face, "You look… very nice, Ramsay." Sansa smoothed the haphazard hairs behind Ramsay's ear as they stared at each other in the mirror, "Come, Jon is waiting for us," Sansa cooed taking Ramsay by the hand. Ramsay glanced one more time at their reflection taking in how different the two now looked standing beside one another. Seeing himself dressed as he was brought something else to light within Ramsay as he stared into the mirror; he felt unrecognizable to the cocky man who had paraded in front of the mirror wearing this outfit before. In fact, he hardly knew the man he was staring at now, and that simultaneously relieved and scared him.


	36. Breaking Bread

Chapter Thirty-Five

Breaking Bread

It was a short walk to the study with one guard in front of them and another behind. The halls had grown dark lit by flickering scones that danced to the hallowed winds that fought to push past the drawn drapery. Distant cries of celebration echoed from the main hall where Northmen and Wildling alike celebrated the departure of the Umber armies and the subsequent return of Lady Stark and all those who had accompanied her. There was much to rejoice for Sansa thought as she absently squeezed Ramsay's hand. She felt his grip tighten, and the two shared a small smile as they walked on in silence.

Jon was already seated when they arrived and stood to formally welcome them. Catelyn had always been meticulous that her children follow noble etiquette even with each other. She had told them, "If you can't respect your own family, how is it that you can presume anyone else should respect you?" It was an ingrained politeness, and both Stark siblings gave each other a slight bow in greeting before moving to sit. Ramsay had been taught the decorum of such gestures for when he had been allowed to be present for guests that traveled to the Dreadfort. Pleasantries Ramsay had seen as redundant and pointless, but he'd begrudgingly complied to after having been given a few cuffs to the ear for not following these ritualistic behaviors. Such tedium the Bolton family tended to see as unnecessary when not trying to impress, and outside of mixed company, they would forgo it. As it were, Ramsay found himself mimicking the two stiltedly although the act of doing so made him feel awkward and out of place.

Winter stores typically meant meager meals even for the noble class with not a lot of variety outside of meat and grain, but that was not the case tonight. Tonight, Jon had asked the cooks to prepare something a little more special to honor Sansa's return home. The table was set with a small feast of freshly baked bread with fruit preserves, dried plums, deer shank, bacon wrapped potatoes, and an assortment of nuts. Ramsay happily noted honeydew lemon cakes (Sansa's favorite dessert) and freshly squeezed lemonade had been fixed as well. It had been quite some time since he'd had a sweet cake, and his mouth watered at the prospect of the treat. Once the three had seated themselves, the servants busied about the table serving out portions.

Melody was among the servants Ramsay spied with a growing glee, and when she glanced at him, he gave her a broad cocky grin. Melody avoided eye contact with him doing her best to steady her shaking hand as she poured each glass of lemonade. As a note of further agitation, Ramsay settled his hand firmly on top of hers giving her his most charming smile as he chided, "Steady as you go, girl; you wouldn't want to make a mess and ruin the festivities, would you?" Ramsay timed his statement with slow deliberation, the mirth spreading across his face to take in how uncomfortable he was making Melody. Fear coursed through the scullery maid to have Ramsay's hand clamped over her own, and it took every ounce of restraint for her not to yank it away from him as she trembled out, "Of course not, milord."

Both Starks took in what seemed like an innocent gesture, and Jon thought nothing of it, but Sansa knew better, and her expression darkened. Ramsay had swelled like a peacock from the interaction, and when he had released Melody's hand and sat back in his chair leisurely, Melody backed away spinning on her heel to quickly depart. Turning back to Sansa though and seeing the withering glare she fixated upon him, Ramsay's grin faltered and his form deflated. His brow furrowed in puzzlement as his eyes danced between her and Jon. An uneasy silence persisted, and Ramsay found himself repeatedly sipping on his lemonade as his eyes darted back to regard Sansa waiting for her expression to change or for her to say what was on her mind. Sansa remained silent though and finally turned away to regard Jon although her posture remained stiff. Her glower had been a clear warning Ramsay knew, but he was unsure exactly what the warning was for.

Jon was equally perplexed by the engagement but said nothing only quietly observing how Sansa reacted with Ramsay and absorbing their shared mannerisms. When Sansa turned her attention back to him, Jon used the opportunity to diffuse the building tension, "The men that you sent to double back arrived at the keep without incident before sundown. They told me the whereabouts of your carriage, and a small group have been sent to retrieve it. You should have your belongings returned by morning."

This was good news, and it eased Sansa to relax a little. She took a roll from the basket breaking a piece off as her shoulders loosened, "I'm glad to hear it. What of the Umbers? The men were toasting their departure as we came to join you. I worry that they are going to become a problem in the future."

Jon grimaced at the ugly reminder of their earlier encounter with the Umbers, "They have left by way of the king's road some hours ago; I sent men to follow their progress. If the Umbers don't return to the Bay of Seals, we'll know about it."

Ramsay wanting to be a part of the conversation added, "You shouldn't underestimate House Umber, they don't like your Wildling friends one bit. They may go home, but it won't be long before they start to try to amass other houses against you for allying with what many on this side of the Wall see as an enemy to the North."

Jon's lips pursed in thought as he took in Ramsay's words. It had already occurred to him that this may be a possible threat, "Aye, they may. It's not a concern that we can address without having reason to suspect them of treason."

Ramsay let go a disbelieving chuckle, "They were here, weren't they? I'd say that's reason enough to suspect treachery. My father would…"

Sansa cut Ramsay off sharply, "Your father's tactical advice is not welcome at this table." Her eyes fixated on Ramsay with a cool stare, and Ramsay's mouth hung open a moment from the bludgeoning response surprised by Sansa's harshness with him. He closed his mouth into a thin line staring down at the table as he nodded growling more to himself than to her, "Of course not." Ramsay's jaw worked feeling belittled to have his statement truncated as though he had spoken out of turn. He and his father may not have seen eye to eye on many things, but if it were one thing he admired about the man was his battle prowess. It had only been recently that he'd even been made a part of the man's war council, and from what little Ramsay had witnessed, he'd found illuminating and inspiring eager to have added his own twists to the man's tutelage.

Realizing she was being rude to Ramsay, Sansa apologized, "I'm sorry; that was impolite to interrupt you. Your father was our bannerman, and he betrayed my family. His rule was drawn in blood and conspiracy, and whatever decisions he would make, understand that we would not."

Ramsay was equally surprised that Sansa had apologized, but it made him feel better that she had even if her words (although true) were offensive to take in. Ramsay grimaced giving a small nod before turning his attention to his plate becoming lost in thought as he picked at his food. Both Jon and Sansa shared a look where Jon lifted a brow in concern, and Sansa flushed slightly embarrassed with her outburst turning to her own food to avoid Jon's troubled gaze. The only sounds carried through the room for long minutes was the clinking of silverware on plates as the three ate in silence.

When the main course had been removed and the sweetcakes placed on new plates in front of them, Jon opened to try and rejuvenate the atmosphere with a change of topic, "Many of the lords and ladies wished to gather in the halls for winter solstice. Many agreed that it would be nice to come together for more than the grimness of war. We will still have council, but there will be merriment to mix with whatever else needs discussing."

Sansa nodded thoughtfully, "That's a fortnight away…" her eyes traversed up to meet Jon's finally holding his gaze a moment before she continued, "That would lift the people's spirits and give many something pleasant to look forward to. I think it's a grand idea, Jon." A smile took root, and Sansa's face cleared of the gloomy mask that had occupied her visage as her thoughts turned to modifying one of her many dresses to accompany the event. Sansa hadn't attended a ball in her homeland since she was but a girl. As a young maiden, she wasn't allowed to mingle with the young lords then because her mother didn't let her nor Arya out of her sights (this was of course for good reason but made the party rather dull for both girls for differing reasons.) Oh, how Sansa had longed to dance among the lords and ladies often daydreaming of the then fabled King's Landing and tales that she'd heard of their grand balls. It was of course a grand hall in King's Landing, but never was it a grand time no matter how decorated with pomp and grace of nobility. Those times were filled with misery and a decay of innocence that had soured such ideas from her mind as yet another foolish girl's ideal fantasy of what life could be over its actuality. But, she was no longer a prisoner to that naivety nor the strictures of the awfulness that had beset her at the capitol.

Ramsay didn't interrupt further finding his lemon cake to be far more interesting than talks concerning parties and gatherings although his own mind wandered over what role he would take regarding such festivities. It occurred to Ramsay immediately that he was likely not going to be invited doubting that his presence would be welcomed by many of the nobles that would be attending. None of them had ever really liked him over tolerated his presence when he'd been presented as Roose Bolton's bastard, and with Roose no longer alive, he was just a bastard with no holdings where hardly any recognized his awarded title or the king who had decreed it. A tumultuous bout of seething dissonance settled into the pit of Ramsay's stomach to ruminate on how negatively they would speak about him. This line of thought persisted into imagery of Sansa smiling at and perhaps dancing with other noblemen while he remained quietly awaiting her return like that of a damsel locked away in a tower.

Ramsay was scowling openly now, and Jon took in the display raising a curious brow, "Is something bothering you, Ramsay?" Sansa's eyes also rotated to take Ramsay in as Ramsay's face slackened instantly realizing all eyes were regarding him and the expression he had plainly set upon his face. Ramsay never was very good at hiding his peaked emotions; it was something his father had chided him for on many occasions, yet it was still a skill he had yet to master when he became upset.

Ramsay blinked turning his attention away from his half-eaten dessert to gaze at Jon. His lips contorted to replace the emotion he'd been projecting into something a little less readable. This wasn't his forte, and instead Ramsay just looked frustrated as he shook his head, "No, nothing. I just…" Ramsay smiled bitterly, "Isn't throwing parties a bit of a waste of resources in the dead of winter? You were just mentioning that your men were still recovering from injury after battle, and I would think it wiser to recruit more soldiers in the event the Umbers or another house is planning on usurping your hold on Winterfell. If I were in your shoes, I would be preparing for hostiles over planning revelries."

Sansa and Jon were quiet taking in Ramsay's concerns and digesting them. Jon had addressed Ramsay, but Sansa responded first, "One cannot live by such a philosophy and keep true supporters. There is more to ruling than pushing your weight around, Ramsay. You have been taught that there are always vipers awaiting you in every mound of grass, and that is only true when you are a viper yourself."

Ramsay smirked assuming little of Sansa's ability to speak on war and the way men conducted themselves therein, "By all means… have your merrymaking. Concentrating your efforts towards more worthy endeavors is just my own opinion. You may have defeated me and the men I stood against you with by a strong ally in the Vale, but know with the Vale, other Northerners, and Wildlings alike… you cannot assume they will be an ally forevermore. As you said, my father was once your bannerman, and that speaks testament to my statement to you now. You may not welcome the skillset that my father boasted, but my father was a man that headed many war councils. Our house knew adversary and how best to prepare for it."

"Your house knew adversary because it ruled with fear, and there is no loyalty in terror," Sansa snapped, "Of all people, Ramsay, you should know this well. There isn't one person that you've inspired loyalty in through your father's legacy." Ramsay's eyes had grown wild with the implications Sansa's statement made, but by this juncture he knew better than to rebuttal with any argument he may have. Sansa wasn't interested, and the more he suggested the less she seemed to want to hear. Sansa was becoming riled, and Ramsay wasn't sure if it was Jon's presence or the topic, but he was becoming increasingly worried this conversation was going to come out of his hide much later if he didn't work to correct its course. The thought of having to swallow his own opinion to mollify Sansa chiseled away at Ramsay's pride, and unable to justify her stance, Ramsay instead grew silent willing himself to just ignore the way her scathing comment made him feel and say nothing at all.

Satisfied that Ramsay had stopped defending his father's awful traditions, Sansa busied herself with stabbing her fork into a piece of her lemon cake. Jon sighed at the building tension in the room setting his napkin on the table and addressing Ramsay, "I'd like to have a word in private with my sister, Ramsay. Excuse us for a moment, please." Ramsay glanced back up to Jon and over at Sansa who had stopped eating and was staring at Jon with a note of surprise written on her face. Leaving the table sounded more than ideal after their recent discussion, so Ramsay gladly rose from his seat giving the siblings a once over before nodding at Jon and taking his leave.

The two guards that stood posted on either side of the door followed him out of the study closing the door to grant the two some privacy. Ramsay had wanted to remain by the door in hopes of overhearing what Jon had wished to say to Sansa, but apparently, the guard seemed to have thought of that waving his hand to usher Ramsay down the hall as he pointed to a small bench placed in the corner that overlooked the foyer as a guard's post. Ramsay grimaced following the command as he slumped onto the bench with an aggravated sigh clasping his hands and looking rather bored and irritated to have been completely removed from the conversation.

Once Ramsay had vacated the study, Sansa fixed Jon with a leveled stare, "You wanted to speak to me alone?" Jon ran a hand through his hair as he examined his sister's expression; he grimaced proceeding carefully, "Are you alright?" Sansa's brow furrowed in confusion, "I'm fine; why do you ask?" Jon shifted uncomfortably trying to process how best to confront his sister when she was already on edge, "You've… you've been rather aggressive with him don't you think?"

Had she? Sansa recounted the conversation realizing almost every reply Ramsay gave she'd countered tersely. Sansa frowned sitting back heavily against her chair as she admitted, "I suppose I have. I recognized something in his behaviors that set me off at the start of dinner, and it's just gone downhill from there. Ramsay still venerates Lord Bolton, and the very mention of that man reminds me of what he did to Rob and in turn much of what House Bolton has done to our family. It sickens me to hear his name persist in any regard that is not venomous."

Jon's eyes softened sympathetically, "It's his father, Sansa. The man raised him." Sansa's mouth hardened into a thin line ruminating this fact as she growled, "And you can see why that concerns me; Ramsay still respects him, what he's done… why shouldn't that worry me?" Jon understood her unease, but he also understood that a man grew to uphold their father's birthright as more than just lineage. This was even more true for a bastard where all else that defined your character was negative. Jon had been blessed to have Ned Stark to look up to and follow in his footsteps where Ramsay had the opposite to which he also had strived to mimic. Jon inhaled deeply; these were things Sansa didn't understand that he did, and to try to explain them to her would likely only create more strife, so Jon settled to remain gentle, "What do you want to do with him from here then? If you want to help Ramsay become better, so be it, but know to do so you are going to have to accept parts of the man that you may not agree with. He's not a blank scroll for you to write."

Sansa blinked as her consternation faded and she considered Jon's statement; she'd been so busy trying to remake Ramsay into who she wanted him to be, she had forgotten to recognize that he already was a person under the parts she'd drawn out. She nodded sheepishly, "Of course. I've been presumptuous and impractical; you are right. Ramsay and I haven't shared conversations like this; there's much to be shared between us. I'm still learning to talk to him past what has transpired." Sansa paused finding herself losing Jon's gaze as she mused on the totality of their relationship, "It's been challenging, but it's also been rewarding."

Jon said nothing, but his eyes spoke of a quiet understanding. Sansa's lip pulled up lightly into a half smile, "You've imparted wisdom on me, Jon, and I thank you for helping me to recognize my failings. I will try harder to observe more and react less harshly." Jon's face parted into a relieved grin, "You've always had a bit of a temper, but it suits you well." Sansa laughed shaking her head, "Mother would be proud," at this Jon chuckled lightly, "She would."

***…***

Ramsay's mind ran rampant of all the many things the Starks could be conversing about, and he readily assumed having been excused from the table that none of it boded well for him. It left Ramsay pent up with a surge of anxious agitation as the minutes ticked by and the drawn out wait stretched uncomfortably with the fact no one was speaking to him. So it was, when a servant had been sent to fetch him to return to dinner, Ramsay reentered the study in a foul mood glaring at his seat so as to exude his anger without directing it at either Jon or Sansa. Ramsay knew better than to address either Stark with the annoyance he was feeling, but that didn't mean that he didn't wish to let it be known that he was rather unhappy about having been asked to leave. It was rude after all, and he had a right to feel indignant.

If either Stark had noticed, neither made comment. Sansa was watching Ramsay as he slumped into his seat, and Ramsay found his own eyes darting over to discern the expression she weighed upon him. It wasn't displeased as she had seemed to be with him when he'd left the room, and in fact, her eyes denoted a level of concern that left Ramsay to feel nonplussed that he couldn't read her. Ramsay's sights then drifted to Jon, and he found the man was also just staring at him curiously. Clearing his throat Ramsay stumbled out agitatedly, "The two of you look as though I've sprouted a second head."

Sansa smiled sensing Ramsay's unease and wishing to calm him, "I was a bit off with you earlier; Jon and I found a need to discuss where those viewpoints were coming from. I feel more prepared to address them in the future with you I think."

She had been rather off Ramsay inwardly agreed, and to hear Sansa put word to it left Ramsay vindicated further in his personal perception to justify his beliefs that she'd treated him unfairly previously. He grimaced petulantly, "Well, I'm glad you acknowledged the problem. I was sorely missing my sweet cake," Ramsay stated sardonically more as a vent to his frustration for having been the topic of discussion without being privy to it than an actual want to return to his dessert.

Sansa frowned at Ramsay's subtle insolence but said nothing assuming she deserved the barb even if it bothered her for Ramsay to feel he could regale her with such a level of cheekiness. It was a line that crossing could lead to disrespect, and Sansa had to be careful to how far she would allow that side of Ramsay to come out before there would be a need to shut it down and assert her dominance over him.

These thoughts brought about a smile as the imagery of bodily hauling Ramsay in her lap and spanking him for reaching a point of impudence she wasn't willing to endure flourished to the forefront of her mind. The surprise on Ramsay's face of telling him when she planned to take him in hand only further fostered an awakening between Sansa's legs that had her blushing terribly in heated desire.

Ramsay caught the giddy grin and the reddening that swept over Sansa's face, and his own lip quirked a small smirk back at her assuming she'd found his comment funny over rude which was just as well Ramsay mused. His mood had lightened considerably as Sansa moved back to discuss more mundane aspects of court with Jon that she'd needed to be caught up on in her absence. Having heard much of this particular news already, Ramsay drifted off mentally relaxing and enjoying another lemon cake as the two spoke on boring matters of state.

The evening had taken a turn for the better as the three relaxed enjoying a normal dialogue one would expect at a noble's table until Sansa brought up her discoveries from earlier that afternoon causing Ramsay to practically choke on his pastry. Sansa questioned Jon conversationally as if they were merely discussing the color of the sky, "It came to my attention when Ramsay and I were bathing that he had a fresh swath of bruising decorating his backside. You hadn't told me that you had found reason to discipline Ramsay while I was away. Would you care to elaborate?"

Jon had equally been taken off-guard by this line of questioning, and his mouth hung agape as he worked to regain his bearings. His face colored feeling just as embarrassed as Ramsay to have Sansa bringing up the matter here at dinner where he was unprepared to address it. Jon had expected this topic may arise eventually though, so it didn't take him too long to recover. His eyes stared at Sansa travelling over to take Ramsay's expression in noting how the other man squirmed uncomfortably awaiting with rapt attention to hear what Jon would divulge.

Ramsay's discomfort only served to make speaking about the other man more unpleasant, and Jon's jaw worked a moment as his mind fought to pose a suitable answer that would satisfy Sansa while remaining somewhat kind to Ramsay. He didn't owe Ramsay anything, but Jon was never a man that wished ill on anyone. At one point, that wasn't the case with Ramsay, but he'd taken most of his frustration out on Ramsay's face in the courtyard, and since then, the two had come to an understanding that revolved around Sansa's want to reform Ramsay and Jon's willingness to follow through with Sansa's desire.

Jon swallowed hard beginning stiffly, "Well… there was a bit of a misunderstanding when we first hit it off. I had to establish what it was that you were looking to have Ramsay deliver regarding your list," Sansa's brow rose as her gaze cut to Ramsay who immediately looked away in a swelling shame. Jon had paused taking in a deep breath as he recalled the remainder of why Ramsay had to be reprimanded, "The second incidence I think was more of…" Sansa swiveled her head back in a snapping quickness to Jon interrupting, "Second? There was more than one time you had need to bring Ramsay in line?" Ramsay cringed at Sansa's tone as the octaves she delivered her statement in denoted both surprise and a growing agitation.

Jon looked over at Ramsay pityingly taking in the way that Ramsay's gaze bore into the table in heated embarrassment to hear the words that Jon spoke about him now. They were not untrue though, and so Jon continued, "Yes, only two though, and they were dealt with early on. The second time Ramsay and I had to come to an understanding that I wasn't his enemy. We've worked it out since then I think and have gotten along well enough without any further need to address any other grievances." Seeing the heated glare Sansa was giving Ramsay, Jon felt a need to add, "I've been taking him out of the dungeon in the mornings to break fast and when I've the time, we walk the parapet and dine in the evenings. I've allowed him a bit of wine by the hearth, and I think it's been good to ease Ramsay into the life you've afforded him."

Both Ramsay and Sansa were locking eyes on Jon in surprise now although Jon was staring solely at Sansa as he continued with all serious intent, "He's doing better than he was when you left him under my charge," Jon's eyes shifted over to Ramsay who stared with a look transfixed before settling back on Sansa, "You know father was never fond of keeping prisoners; at the wall, I saw what long bouts of caged reform did to a man. Those men were better off dead. I'm not going to tell you how to handle Ramsay, but I will ask you to consider my council, sister. If I didn't think you cared for this man, I'd have told you already to have him put down, but we both know that's not the case; is it?"

Jon's soft chocolate eyes had moved to regard Sansa with an imploring look that demanded an answer. His words had taken her breath away under the assumptions made that she was in fact making Ramsay's life miserable. Was she? Of course not! This was her immediate halting response Sansa wished to rally against Jon with as the incredulousness of such a statement backhanded her, but Sansa remained silent. Deep down there was truth to her brother's statement.

Sansa was keeping Ramsay like a coveted treasure that only she could glory in, and it was objectifying she knew. Sansa swallowed hard losing eye contact as she nodded, "It is. I care for Ramsay it is true, and you're right. I will work to treat him less like a prisoner and give him freedoms as is suitable to his behavior. There's no need for us to be uncivil," Sansa rose then abruptly as she stared down at Jon with a gravity that belied her youth, "I will give your words serious consideration, Jon, but do know that any delivered punishment not brought by my hand to Ramsay will be vindicated to further correction upon my awareness. Ramsay knows by now that he needs to behave with or without my presence, and to not do so is a slight to me," Sansa's eyes shifted to Ramsay who was unable not to stare up at her with wide wary blue eyes expressing awe and surprise at her declaration, "Come, Ramsay. I think we've had our fill here, and we still have much to discuss; don't we?"

Ramsay's face paled in recognition of what that 'discussion' would entail as he gave a barely registered nod to her query afraid not to respond even though it humiliated him to do so. It was no secret what was to come next, but even still, Ramsay found himself standing slowly as if in a trance barely registering Jon any longer and falling in line behind Sansa with a bowed head. Sansa stormed out of the study and back towards her bed chambers, and Ramsay found himself following swiftly and silently behind her unable to protest even though his mind screamed a million objections as his gut twisted threatening to empty the contents of his dinner upon the stone floor.


	37. Reckoning

Chapter Thirty-Six

Reckoning

It didn't take long to traverse the hallways and return to Sansa's bed chambers, in fact the space of time seemed all too quick and dreadfully slow in dichotomy. Every step Ramsay took felt leaden with the weight of what awaited him; he had pushed away the fact that this punishment was due to come with everything else that had passed between the two. Ramsay had dimly hoped that maybe Sansa had managed to misplace her promise in the activity that they had shared and the impromptu events that had surprised them both into being called to join Jon for dinner. Those hopes had been dashed the moment Sansa had humiliated him with her open statements to Jon; she'd addressed his punishments so directly that being present in the wave of their exposure had humbled Ramsay into muteness.

Sansa hadn't outwardly stated Ramsay had been spanked by Jon, but she had mentioned the markings across his buttocks (as if anyone, servant or guard, in the room could have missed that bit of news and not formulated exactly what Sansa was referring to.) Even if her statement was remarkably missed by those mingling in the room, Ramsay wasn't a fool, he knew rumors had likely done laps around the estate by now to the point that the whole of Wintertown (if not much of the North) was likely privy to his personal sufferings and the details therein regarding the Starks as his new keepers. Jon's own embarrassment only added to Ramsay's mortification of the scene unfolding before him; it was akin to being mounted on a runaway horse bound to buck you to the ground where you were unable to do more than wait with dread for the inevitable to play out.

The whole of Sansa's statement left no doubt that Ramsay was going to be punished by her and that the two were leaving dinner to do just that. This further loss of face left meeting anyone's gaze no matter their station too much for Ramsay to bear witness to. Leaving the study, the overwhelming groundswell of this disgrace poured through his being as Ramsay moved in a daze lurching forward with eyes drawn to the floor bulging in lingering shock; he felt as if he'd been punched in the gut, winded in the attempt to regain his composure. His face bore the hue of red so flush he was almost purple as Ramsay's mind ticked over the damning answers Sansa had elicited out of Jon.

She was angry, and it was not the brewing 'spill out over time' irritation that Ramsay had come to see as a trigger to be wary of but a tempest fury pronounced by her footfalls that snapped with the preciseness of her squared heels clapping down onto the cold limestone floor. The sharp resonance echoed the only sound Ramsay's ears absorbed. Each step Sansa took now served to shrivel Ramsay's insides further. Was he really this afraid of a spanking? Yes and no. The pain was exacting and something to be reckoned with, but it was bearable; what bothered Ramsay most now was the emotional tax having to endure this form of discipline levied upon him. Coupled with the pain was humiliation, and much worse, a looming disappointment. This letdown stung deeper than any physical wound, and where he'd known this bite discontent well with his own father; Ramsay had come to expect to frustrate the man and saw the bar as always being set too high to attain true approval to begin with. That wasn't the case with Sansa though; she hadn't asked much of Ramsay when she'd left on her journey other than for him to 'be good' for her brother, Jon. Recounting the past two weeks as they marched back to the bedroom, Ramsay knew that he'd failed this simple request miserably, and it was eating at him terribly.

It disheartened Ramsay to the core, and where before he had mentally worked out this scenario several times over as to how he could justify his actions to Sansa and why what had happened was just a misshapen circumstance of the situation he was presented with; thinking on what he planned to say now brought to light how very hollow his excuses really were. If anything, Ramsay grasped trying to downplay his misdeeds before Sansa would do him no favors (either for his soon to be sore flesh or Sansa's opinion of him.) This realization served to somber Ramsay's mood further feeling ensnared to his own culpability of the actions he'd taken and the further repercussions they now prompted he endure.

One of the guards slipped wordlessly around to open the door for Sansa as they made it to her chambers, and it was only after passing through the threshold into the room did Sansa halt her pace and finally turn to regard Ramsay. Sansa stood tall and unmoving, and her gaze upon Ramsay was expressionless, but Ramsay could still feel the fire that burned in her stare upon him. It was weighty enough to capture Ramsay's attention as his eyes locked with hers to reflect both his dread and uncertainty. He slowly maneuvered into the chamber to stand timidly before her with arms locked at his sides and back rigid (a stance that Ramsay defaulted to when he was feeling apprehensive.) Roose had preferred to see Ramsay this way while reprimanding him over the surly slouch that came about in later years when Ramsay had grown entitled and embittered with his assuredness as an only heir.

Once Ramsay had become stationary, he lowered his head as the guilt swelled within him, and he was unable to meet Sansa's silent accusation. He'd been less than honest with her when she'd questioned him about what had happened in her absence. Ramsay was kicking himself inwardly now wishing he'd just given Sansa the full story then. Being forthcoming would have avoided the strain of Sansa having to be told by Jon or her asking about the matter at dinner of all places (not that Ramsay hadn't wholly expected that she would want to follow up with Jon in the coming days regardless of what he had relayed to her.) Ramsay realized with a sinking heart that this was another short-sighted expectation on his part to assume that Sansa would not have delved that deeply or that Jon would not have freely given every account that now landed Ramsay in further hot water.

"Please; leave us," Sansa announced crisply to the guard although her eyes never left Ramsay's bowed head. The soldiers silently obeyed leaving the space to resonate with a loud clang as the heavy door sealed the two away in privacy. The finality of it sent Ramsay's heart into his throat as a creeping prickling sensation crawled across his every nerve ending. His Adam's apple bobbed suddenly feeling constricted as Ramsay brought his wary sights up to take in the full of Sansa's mien. Her lips were not frowning as hard as he'd imagined, but the corners were turned down just enough to note that she was still rather displeased with him. His own expression had Sansa sigh tiredly; Ramsay reflected nervousness for what they both knew was to come next, but there was something more he was showing Sansa found far more noteworthy, guilt. It was an odd look to grace Ramsay's features, but one that it was far time he showed. It meant that Ramsay understood on some level that he deserved what he was about to get.

Sansa's shoulders lost their ridged poise as she held out a hand to Ramsay, "I suppose we both know it's time to finally address your misbehavior while I was away. Come." Ramsay blinked his mouth feeling dry as if he'd just swallowed sand to hear Sansa declare to him that it was in fact to be now that he would face the promised pain from hours ago. The narrowing of time for this event from about to happen into the realm of present moment blossomed a surge of heat to flood over Ramsay's skin from head to toe. There was a protest on his lips, but Ramsay numbly found himself reacting to her offered hand by extending his own for Sansa to firmly clasp. Where her hand clutching around his had felt like the warming sun on a winter's day to pull him along in unison with her; Sansa's grip linking them now felt like a foreboding snare trapping Ramsay and compelling him to comply with her forward momentum as her assured stride led them back entirely too swiftly over to the bed.

The covers were drawn down invitingly, and the pillows were fluffed. Ramsay hadn't noticed until now that in their absence, the fire had been well stoked, the drapes drawn tight, and the bath drained and scrubbed down. The room appeared quite homey with candle and firelight emitting a subtle welcoming glow. The odd combination of these sights and recognitions accompanied with Sansa's gentle touch steering him towards his foreseeable chastisement left Ramsay's synapses firing as his mind reeled to the mix of all that he was taking in and feeling. As if sensing his growing confusion, Sansa paused glancing over her shoulder at Ramsay taking in his anxious wonderment. She gave him a gentle smile, "I'm not angry at you, Ramsay. Even if I do not know the totality of what brought you and Jon into conflict, I get it."

Ramsay's eyes widened following her line of admitted logic; he was more than pleased with Sansa's admission that she wasn't in fact angry with him, and given a window to debate his stance on the matter, Ramsay opened his mouth to speak on his behalf; if Sansa understood this much then perhaps he could expound upon her statement and convince her the rest of this was unnecessary. Sansa didn't give Ramsay the opportunity to elaborate on her statement though bringing her finger to softly press into the depression of his upper lip, "But, this fact does not excuse you of accountability, Ramsay. You are still responsible for your choices, and I know that Jon of all people is not an intolerant man. You must have greatly upset him to have had him find the need to discipline you not only once but twice!"

Ramsay frowned deeply at Sansa's comments, but he did not contest them. She was right, he had nettled Jon in the beginning and been so harried by the culminating factors of his own aggravations that he'd allowed a fury to ripen within him and unreasonably explode his escalating frustrations. Of course, at the time, Ramsay had not felt he was in any way wrong for these ill sentiments. Jon had intimidated him and made him feel unworthy because the man had been so bloody righteous. Jon was everything Ramsay had never been able to attain as a fellow bastard, and it had stung Ramsay's heart and his pride to feel humbled in Jon's presence, a persisting reminder of his own failures. Having many nights to reflect upon his actions since those first few days supplemented with Jon's consistent attempts to remain fair with him, Ramsay had grown to see the truth that it had not been Jon causing him grief over the apex of his own insecurities manifesting into a need to lash out. That eye-opener was more bitter to swallow than Ramsay's initial misgivings, but with Jon's understanding, this too Ramsay had been able to move on from and ultimately accept and forgive.

Sansa took Ramsay's lack of refute as agreement and proceeded to pull up her dress exposing the lower half of her shapely legs. She then stepped neatly out of the fine slippers she wore before backing herself up and onto the bed far enough to give Ramsay room to climb up upon the bed with her. Sansa's eyes traversed over Ramsay's form observing that his attention rested on her now exposed thighs. Since she had let loose his hand, Ramsay had taken to fidgeting with the tapered ends of his dress shirt which caused Sansa's lip to twitch reactively upward. It was a cute nervous tick that Sansa found made her moisten; seeing Ramsay so worked up and reflexively timorous wearing the very outfit she'd recognized prior as a visible scar to her losses at Ramsay's hands was equally empowering. It reminded her why she'd had him wear his wedding attire for this very moment to begin with.

Lunging forward, Sansa yanked on Ramsay's hip causing him to stumble forward and slam flush against the mattress. In reaction, Ramsay let out a soft grunt of surprise holding his hands tentatively up to both balance himself and as a defensive response to Sansa's aggressive handling. Ramsay watched mesmerized as Sansa's hands roughly yanked his top up enough to get at the ties holding his pants in place. He offered lightly, "I… I can do that. You don't…" Sansa interjected bluntly, "You're right; I don't," she stopped then, her gaze piercing into Ramsay as a barely hidden smile worked at the corners of her lips and a sadistic glow radiated about her. She let the silence linger a moment before finishing her statement with a seductive growl, "But, I want to be the one to bare you, and so I will."

Ramsay was transfixed by her behavior and her words, and as odd as it was to feel at this moment, he was somewhat heady and aroused to be so subjected to her rule. There was something alluring to letting go of the control he normally clung to just acquiesce to Sansa possessing and doing as she willed to him with or without his consent. The added fear of what Sansa blatantly told Ramsay that she planned to do to him, (that he knew she would soon cause him pain) created an outpour of adrenaline that culminated to send his mind spinning into a place Ramsay was unfamiliar with, but with assurance in her care for him, Ramsay still felt safe. Sansa was going to hurt him, but it was not in any sort of cruel display of power like Ramsay had always hurt others. She was correcting him because she wanted Ramsay to be better; she expected this of him because for some reason that even he did not fathom, Sansa believed Ramsay had it in him to be held to a higher standard.

The contradiction of such an opposed mental state was not lost upon Ramsay as he wordlessly took in Sansa's deft fingers roughly yanking at the ties that held his britches firmly to his waist divesting him of his pants in two fluid tugs. Her hands working to expose his crotch (even if this was not what she was aiming to get at) had Ramsay physically responding. He swelled stiffly, and his member bobbed forward when Sansa unraveled the cloth wrap uncovering his front to her. Ramsay's mouth parted with desire staring at Sansa with a growing carnal need, but as his senses came back to him, his face flushed at his obvious show of excitement at such an awkward timing. The shameful thought that immediately occurred to Ramsay was that Sansa would think he wanted her to do this to him, and even though that was not the case, the prospect of it happening had Ramsay unable to unjumble what he really wanted and how even in such an instance as this, he couldn't help but yearn to have Sansa touching him and showing him her undivided attention.

Sansa did not reach out and fondle him as Ramsay had inwardly hoped (he in no way expected that she would, but it would have been a welcomed surprise.) Sansa's lips afforded him a smirk letting Ramsay know that she was at least amused by his plight and not offended by it. This did nothing to deflate his erection as Sansa grasped ahold of Ramsay's elbow to tenderly yet firmly guide him to clumsily climb onto the bed with her. As Ramsay did so, his pants lowered further bunching at his knees to bind his legs in an awkward tangle.

Every movement Ramsay made where Sansa drew him inexorably forward served to spike the adrenaline he was already intoxicated by. Sansa had Ramsay positioned on his knees squarely in front of her now, and the way she sat on her own legs brought them eye level with each other. The humor had left her face as Sansa addressed Ramsay sincerely, "I did not ask Jon what you had done to deserve the punishments he levied upon you, but I expect for you to tell me now as I spank you full sore. I don't think that I have need to express that any omission to obscure the severity of what you did will be seen as any less than a lie, and if I unearth any untruths after we've finished here, we will return to rehash your dishonesty with a far harsher lashing. That said, I do not assume you were to lie to me, but I wanted to be clear before we've started exactly what you can expect should you have entertained the notion to be less than honest with me as you were when first we discussed this matter."

Ramsay could do nothing but nod numbly as he took in every word Sansa avowed with perfect clarity that he did not wish to repeat this experience with the terms of 'harsher' attached to it. Her speech had helped to curb Ramsay's initial excitement with the mention of his previous omissions flaring a wave of guilt to pass through him, but even so, Sansa's naked legs and what lay between them was enough to keep him at half-mast. Ramsay couldn't forget the heat he'd felt having been laid across her lap the last time she'd taken him to task, and when his hardon had pressed into the crevice of that heat, he'd also been made aware of her slickness. The thought of Sansa wanting to do this to him for both reasons of behavior modification as well as sexual gratification brought on a whole new range of perplexity to the dynamic of this situation. It caused Ramsay to feel an awkward emotional upheaval of simultaneous trepidation and arousal that he was helpless to do anything with other than to be guided by Sansa's command.

Sansa smiled inwardly; his expression was adorable. Ramsay was so raptly attentive, and her seriousness with him had his brow crinkling with apprehension and the frown he'd been wearing pursing to jut his lower lip out in a barely contained pout. The contrast of the expression on his face coupled with his dress washed away the ill sentiments the clothing had once represented. Sansa was seeing Ramsay again, not as he had been but as he was to her now, her Ramsay, and this acknowledgement brought about a centered peace within her. Sansa couldn't delay any longer for both of their sakes, so she moved into action spreading her legs and jutting one knee forward between Ramsay's legs.

Ramsay looked down slightly startled at the odd positioning well-aware of his testicles being drawn up and over her knee to rest high on her thigh as Sansa maneuvered her body to pull Ramsay closer. She used her knee to lock his legs in place by his gathered britches pooled between his knees leaving their bodies intertwined with Ramsay straddling Sansa's thigh. Ramsay could feel the heat of Sansa's sex pressing against his knee; she was incredibly wet. His eyes fluttered taking in a shuttered breath as their growing proximity served to build upon the already palpable sexual tension circulating between them. He would have kissed her then for his want, but Sansa surprised Ramsay by continuing to pull on his elbow yanking him forward, so that his body was shifted over her knee sliding off her right side. His chest lay placed atop the bed while his ass was perched centered across the whole of her upper leg. Ramsay's hardon only stiffened against the taut corded muscle of her lovely thigh rocking in a slight side to side motion to feel himself crushed into the velvety softness of her feminine form as their hip bones collided.

Glancing over his shoulder, Ramsay couldn't see Sansa's face like this; only her back was visible to him. This unnerved him for some unknown reason causing Ramsay to shift about uncomfortably. Sensing Ramsay's reticence now, Sansa's arm drew his hip to her possessively as her fingers sank tightly into his thigh to effectively immobilize him onto her lap. Having been steadied and stilled, Ramsay found himself reflexively lifting his legs to see he could only move them up, but he could not bend at the knees ensuring that even though he was not chained, Sansa wasn't going to allow him to interfere with her hand's work once she'd gotten started. Ramsay swallowed past the forming lump in his throat as a rash of goosebumps swept over his naked flesh becoming acutely aware of his nakedness and the vulnerability he now presented to be at her mercy in this way.

Sansa was admiring the view watching Ramsay's reactions and enjoying the way his bottom involuntarily clenched and squirmed without her yet having laid into him. She was about to now though, and his anticipation to have her do so only enlivened the pulse building in her own sex imagining how Ramsay's body would soon be jerking about to her ministrations. This sadistic streak should make her feel guilty Sansa reasoned, this was for Ramsay's benefit after all not for her to get off to, but she couldn't help the excitement she felt in seeing his shapely rear end presented to her ready to be punished. It generated an equal sexual reaction to take control of him this way; Ramsay was hers, and Sansa took satisfaction in all aspects of what she did with and to him. This was still for his own good, so what was so wrong if she also secretly enjoyed putting Ramsay in his place?

Her hand struck him then, and Ramsay's body tensed upon her thigh rippling in reaction as he drew in a tight gasp. Again her palm met his milky white flesh, and Sansa marveled at how quickly her hand left a reddening impression. The sight spurred her on, and she picked up the pace coming down in rapid succession moistening to the display of how only after twenty some odd slaps to his posterior, Ramsay's ass was bouncing with a kneejerk immediacy followed by a slight tremor that left his cheeks to wobble and tighten in expectation of the next blow. He had begun to grunt and writhe to the swats Sansa delivered, and she could no longer feel Ramsay's penis bulging against her. He was malleable enough to have been brought past the pretenses of their mutual sexual desires, and it was then Sansa decided to begin questioning Ramsay, "We both know why we are here, Ramsay, but I want you to tell me now in exact detail what was the reasoning for each offense that brought my brother to find need to discipline you in my stead."

Ramsay had been ready to answer this question before they had begun (although admitting to what he had done and reliving the reasoning it had happened in the first place was a punishment in its own right) but as Sansa landed smack after stinging smack to his backside, Ramsay had become lost to the pain Sansa was delivering and for her to begin interrogating him now discombobulated his thoughts. Even with only her hand, Sansa was dispensing much heavier strikes than Ramsay remembered her capable of (it didn't help that although mostly healed, the muscles beneath the skin were skill a bit tender from Jon's thrashing a little over a week prior.) Sansa intended to get the point she meant to make across to him of that Ramsay was certain, and the added awkward arrangement with the way she had him settled across her lap somehow made him feel even more exposed with not only his ass bared to her but his legs parted leaving more of him open for her to peruse. Ramsay was unsure whether or not this particular exposure was intentional on Sansa's part, but it left him feeling uniquely shamed to have her view him this way.

When Ramsay did not answer her query right away, Sansa's hand gave no mercy slapping harder across one cheek several times before rotating to the other sometimes catching the inner sensitive skin bared from having his legs separated which Sansa noticed elicited a more animated jolt and a muffled squeak of pain from Ramsay much as concentrating on the lower half of his bottom and thighs produced more twists and grunts; she was learning his body well and playing it like an instrument. Sansa realized with a bit of personal pride that she was becoming quite efficient at pulling what she wanted from him as Ramsay began to quickly divulge the information she sought after only a few more well-placed swats brought about by her renewed efforts, "It… I… I hadn't made progress on the list! Jon wanted me to… he expected more, and I didn't deliver it in the time frame he asked!" Ramsay's back was arched hurrying to spit out the details and feeling it wasn't fast enough because Sansa's palm still steadily swatted him throughout.

Sansa nodded having to tighten her grip on Ramsay as his body became more fidgety the further she tenderized areas of his ass that had become rather sensitive to her continued application. Ramsay had been about to blurt out the second half of his confession when Sansa inquired further, "Why not, Ramsay? What was preventing you from doing not only what Jon asked but what I required of you?" This was an unexpected additive that Ramsay had not been anticipating especially since Sansa hadn't even started the questioning until he'd been worn into the spanking. This realization had Ramsay's mind beginning to rattle taking note of his already rather sore and burning posterior; if Sansa wanted to make a conversation out of this punishment, it could become quite excruciatingly lengthy. Ramsay tried to reason as his panic rose, "I… I'm having trouble thinking straight with you hitting me like this! Can't we take a break!"

"No," Sansa answered simply keeping the same tempo, "I find this helps keep you honest with not just me but yourself. Now, answer the question, Ramsay." Ramsay fought back a growl of anger to be denied a reprieve hating that he was being so firmly driven by a simple spanking to expel to her his wrongdoings, but he found himself shifting mentally to concentrate his scattered thoughts on answering Sansa's query if only to have the incessant stinging sensation cease. He knew the answer, and even though Sansa's hand was driving it from him, Ramsay still found it very difficult to put into words. Sansa heard the warble in Ramsay's voice even though she could tell that he was straining to remain impassive, "It wasn't that I didn't want to do it! It… it was just…." He trailed off as the mix of emotional pain coalesced with his physical state before he muttered sullenly, "I… I didn't know what I could offer anyone that they would want from me."

Sansa did stop after this admission looking back to see Ramsay had grown rigid with fingers balled within the sheets although it wasn't from the pain she had delivered but over what he had told her. Ramsay did not look back at her still seemingly trapped in his own thoughts and how they made him feel. Sansa regarded him for a long moment before sighing, "Something tells me there's more to it than that, Ramsay. Jon would have worked with you had you expressed you were having trouble."

This was true leading up to he and Jon's next altercation, and the thought of delving into that incident had Ramsay visibly cringe. Thinking it was likely best to include that concession now while Sansa wasn't currently hitting him, Ramsay continued, "He did. I wasn't overly forthcoming until after the fact we'd… discussed the matter. I was still angry, and I should have put a lid on it, but one thing led to another, and Jon and I…" Ramsay paused as a sheen of sweat dotted his forehead and he contemplated the best way to articulate what came next to paint himself in the best possible light regarding the circumstances. It was of course impossible not to spike Sansa's ire over what he was about to say Ramsay well knew, and his bottom clenched and quivered as he tentatively peered over his shoulder with a guilty expression. Sansa's eyes were boring into him, it was apparent that she also was expecting to hear something she knew was not something she wanted to hear. Ramsay's brow raised in a pleading fashion silently asking for mercy as he began relaying the that which he knew would culminate into Sansa resuming peppering his backside, "We had a bit of a disagreement…" before Ramsay could continue, Sansa interjected, "A bit? I'm sensing that you've sugar coating Ramsay, remember my earlier promise," she stated sharply.

Ramsay could feel how tender he was now more than ever, and Sansa's abruptness with him tainted with a growing agitation had Ramsay rocking nervously on her thigh as he blurted out, "Alright, it …it was more than a disagreement! Jon and I were working on the list, he didn't like some of the suggestions I made, and I didn't like his, so he'd planned to dismiss me like some commoner, so I… I took offense, and there was a small tussle over it!" That was all that Sansa apparently needed to hear to resume violently thrashing Ramsay's ass. He had expected as much, but knowing it was coming didn't help prepare him for the renewed burn that seemed to ignite more fiercely upon impact of Sansa's fervent slaps.

She was hitting him much harder and faster than before eliciting a whimper of dismay from Ramsay feeling not only her anger but her strong disappointment. He had been worse than she'd expected, and Sansa growled as her hand delivered the fury she felt, "You attacked Jon?! Do you have a death wish? Jon could have put you to the noose for such an act, and there would have been nothing I could have done to save you! Get up!" She yanked on Ramsay's arm, and he quickly rose with alarm reaching back to tenderly touch the radiating heat on his welted as as he stared worriedly at Sansa eyes moving back and forth across her face as a stricken terror began to build in Ramsay's gut. He had really upset her, more than he'd thought he could, but apparently this particular offense struck a deeper chord that flared a wrath to erupt within Sansa. "I'm… I'm sorry," Ramsay stuttered immediately apologetic and wanting more than anything to make this right.

"Not sorry enough," Sansa stated coolly having not let go of the tight hold she had on Ramsay's elbow as she leaned forward rummaging around in the nightstand and pulling out a flat headed hairbrush. Ramsay's eyes widened in alarm putting two and two together rather quickly as he protested, "But… but you gave your word that you would only use your hand!"

Sansa's lips were pursed crossly as she glared at Ramsay making him quail inwardly for having brought her word into question at all. She answered sharply, "I did. That punishment has been delivered, but this," she held up the brush shaking it menacingly as she spoke, "This is for having to punish you a second time for the same offense!" Ramsay's face contorted in confusion, "Second offense?! But Jon and I never…" he trailed off realizing now what Sansa was getting at. This was the second time he'd gotten into a fight that could have gotten himself executed. He hadn't cared at the time when he'd let his anger overwhelm him, but understanding dawned within him now what had upset Sansa so much wasn't the fact that he'd attacked her brother (not that she didn't carry a furry for that all on its own) but this was an offense that could that have put his head on the chopping block. It was his carelessness with his own life that had made her this furious, and it was a message she'd delivered to him the last time she'd spanked him.

Ramsay's mouth worked to speak, but between the fear of her threat to be applied on his already very swollen ass and the emotional overload caused by his comprehension of just how much he'd let Sansa down, he was at a loss to do more than softly reply, "I'm sorry… I …I didn't mean to…" Sansa's lips were pursed taking in how Ramsay was visibly wilting before here, but her fury was too stoked to take pity on him as she clipped, "You never mean to, but yet here we are. I must not have left enough of an impression on you the first time, but mark my words that I will surely imprint a deterrent that outweighs my obvious concerns for your safety where you seem to care so little yourself."

Tears welled in Ramsay's eyes as he gulped feeling the bile rise up his throat. He wanted to tell Sansa that she was wrong, she had emphasized quite well her feelings on the matter, but Ramsay knew it would do him no good. Sansa was right; he was reckless, stubbornly belligerent, and impulsive, and if he didn't get a handle on the way he reacted with people, there may come a point that Sansa would not be able to protect him. Ramsay had spent his life dodging one threat or another due to his status as a noble's bastard. He'd put too much stock in the fact that he'd been able to react as he saw fit and often not with caution much of the time; he'd been lucky not to have offended the wrong person along the way. Roose had not cared enough to curb that behavior in him and in some ways encouraged it to make Ramsay more intimidating, but Sansa did care, and Ramsay knew she did. The fact she was so angry with him because she cared caused the tears that stood in Ramsay's eyes now to spill down his face as Sansa directed him back over her knee.

Sansa adjusted Ramsay's bottom with quick jerky movements back into place, so that she could begin punishing him again, and she did not ask any further questions as she brought the brush down with such velocity that Ramsay screamed out in shock to the sting it elicited. Ramsay didn't stop calling out once Sansa started bouncing about and twisting so violently the Sansa could barely contain him. The pain ricocheted into Ramsay with a preciseness the strap lacked, and it left a unique bite in its wake that had Ramsay meeting his threshold after only a dozen applications, "Sansa! Lady Sansa please! I care! I do care! I'm sorry! It won't happen again!" Ramsay's voice broke as he screamed out against Sansa's relentless barrage. She wasn't stopping, and Ramsay knew why; his words meant nothing because his actions had spoken louder, and now true to her word, her actions would supersede his own.

The ache of unworthiness coursed through Ramsay as the hairbrush acted as a catalyst to his guilt, and he let go a wail of sorrowful desperation. The tears flowed freely then as Sansa pummeled his ass resolutely. He deserved this, and this thought brought about a choked sob as Ramsay finally gave voice to the silent tears he shed clearly crying and no longer physically fighting Sansa although his body still jerked reactively to her ministrations. Sansa had wanted to drop the brush when she'd first heard Ramsay call out to her and even more so when she heard his stifled sniffles, but when Ramsay had abandoned all pretenses to hide his hurt and wept openly, she could stand it no more and tossed the brush up onto the dresser as if holding it burned her.

Sansa frowned taking in the damage she'd done to his ass knowing that it was going to take quite a few days for Ramsay to sit comfortably. She hated to see Ramsay this distressed, but she had to make sure that he knew that his safety mattered, and she needed to make it matter to him. Sansa released her grip on Ramsay's hip running her hand gently over his scorched flesh. Ramsay shivered trembling and preparing for a further bout of pain, but Sansa only caressed him before stating gently, "It's over Ramsay, please tell me I've gotten through to you now." Ramsay wiped at his face turning to peer over his shoulder at her as he stated earnestly, "Yes, lady Sansa! I swear it!"

Reaching down, Sansa helped to lift Ramsay up to sit once more on her thigh. Being placed to sit elicited a hiss from Ramsay who immediately moved to rise from the uncomfortable position, but Sansa drew an arm around his waist pulling him back onto her knee, so that they were once more face to face. Ramsay reluctantly accepted the pain this brought only because he needed Sansa to comfort him now. She spoke softly as her eyes reflected regret, "I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't want to do this to you, but you left me no choice, Ramsay."

Ramsay looked down as he whimpered, "I'm a fool. I know. Please forgive my heedless actions. I never meant to make you worry for me so." Sansa lifted his chin to stare into his watery blue eyes before gently kissing the tears from his cheeks as she worked to hold back her own tears. Her stomach felt sick from the prospect of how often Ramsay seemed to put himself in harm's way, and she swallowed her own fears annunciating as seriously as she could muster, "Promise me Ramsay, please. I… I don't want anything to happen to you." Ramsay trembled to hear her words as he warbled, "I… I promise." His vulnerability painted the entirety of his being, and his ego felt bruised beyond repair, but Ramsay did feel loved, and at this moment, it was all Ramsay cared about. Sansa wrapped her arms around him, and Ramsay immediately reciprocated her hold relishing the closeness she afforded him and wishing that he could just stop crying, but these tears were not of misery but joy from the way Sansa gripped him. She exuded in her embrace how afraid he had made her and that her wrath was born of concern for losing him not over the act of him fighting with Jon. It was another reassurance that Sansa needed him as he needed her, and that was all Ramsay had ever really wanted.


	38. Parallels

Chapter 37

Parallels

The way Ramsay clung to Sansa resonated to her that he craved the warmth she shed upon him, and Sansa let Ramsay retreat into her for this much sought-after solace. In the wake of silence, Ramsay said nothing burying his head into Sansa's shoulder feeling a need to hide his face. He couldn't look her in the eye because even though she had disciplined him granting him exoneration of his deeds, the totality of the event coming to pass to begin with still adhered a stain of weighty shame upon him that Ramsay couldn't fully escape. Sansa only moved her hands in methodical slow circles soothingly up and down the fabric of Ramsay's dress shirt, a gesture meant to ensure to Ramsay that she was no longer upset and only wanted to comfort him. Oddly, this connection didn't feel awkward but inviting as the barriers between the two had been broken down to convene into this imparted moment. It was intangible, pure, and honest, and the harmony shared left an aura to reverberate like a breach of sunlight after a severe storm's passing.

Wanting Ramsay closer, Sansa drew one of her hands down to brace against his lower back and gently pulled Ramsay forward up her leg. Ramsay's back stiffened in automatic response to the pain the movement caused as he was quickly reminded just how full sore Sansa's hairbrush had made him. His backside was decorated with harsh raised welts that burned their presence be heeded, but other than a soft elicited grunt, Ramsay did not resist Sansa's advance to bring their torsos closer. Once Sansa had adjusted him, Ramsay let out a sigh of contentment relaxing into the feeling of being crushed against her having wanted this intimacy as much as Sansa.

Bringing his chin into the dip of her neck, Ramsay kissed her soft flesh appreciatively trailing from Sansa's neck down to the apex of her shoulder. Sansa reciprocated with a soft exhale of pleasure as she squeezed Ramsay affectionately to her. Tilting his head to lay comfortably on her shoulder, Ramsay nestled into Sansa enjoying the way their bodies melded into one another. Many of the candles had flickered out by now, and most of the room's light was cast by the crackling fire that danced shadows across the room. Ramsay's sights were drawn to the hearth penchant of the warmth it radiated alongside that which he now garnered from Sansa's embrace.

Staring into the flames, Ramsay's mind began to wander over the night's events marveling how it was that he came to be so dispossessed of his pride before Sansa yet still inwardly accepting of his recent place in the world. Sansa had settled something within him, calming his otherwise constant predilection to grasp for more than he'd otherwise been offered. Never would he have seen himself falling into a role where he bowed to anyone like he had chosen to do with Sansa, but much had changed him, and Ramsay had decided as long as he would be encompassed within the sentiments Sansa heaped upon him now, the humility he endured was a price worth paying. He was coming to understand what he most wanted from Sansa was something that she was more than willing to give him; he didn't have to fight tooth and nail to be loved by her, and this fact made him both puzzled and grateful to the kindness Sansa met his developing needs of her even when he'd so thoroughly disappointed her.

"Come; let's get you more comfortable," Sansa cooed lightly as she worked at the tassels cinching Ramsay's shirt. Ramsay shifted sitting up with a hiss as the underside of his ass rolled up to place his weight onto the firmness of Sansa's unforgiving thigh. Ramsay glowered on impact and Sansa chuckled at the sulk Ramsay afforded her playfully chiding him, "Don't look at me like that, Ramsay. It's not my fault you brought trouble upon yourself."

Ramsay soured further, but he had grown wise enough not to let the bitterness her comment provoked entice a negative retort. He instead exhaled his aggravation over his discomfort turning to look back at the fire and place his frown away from directing it at Sansa. Sometimes saying nothing was the best answer. Sansa did not rebuke Ramsay for having a bit of a bad attitude knowing that she was poking his sore ego to have said what she had. In response to his pout Sansa's mouth twisted into a small smirk finding his scowl amusing; she continued to silently work at the draw strings behind Ramsay until his dress shirt was loose enough for him to pull off.

Once Sansa had slackened the ties of his top well enough, Ramsay did not need prompting quickly tugging the article of clothing off his person and discarding it to the floor. Ramsay was never fond of the way noble clothing had need for assistance to wear or remove and how typically tight they would fit. The spanking had worked up a bit of exertion in him, so the shirt now dampened with sweat, felt even more constricting against his form than normal making Ramsay doubly pleased to have discarded it. Clear of the shirt, that left his pants still bunched and trapped beneath Sansa's knee holding Ramsay from leaving her lap. The reminder of this fact made a blush blossom across Ramsay's face as he turned back to peer at Sansa sheepishly awaiting for her to proceed being too averse to have to ask her to release him from her leg.

The thought alone was humiliating enough to create a wave of shame to course through Ramsay further reddening his cheeks and ears, and Sansa apparently catching on to Ramsay's silent plea for her to free him reached out to steady his body by gripping the undersides of Ramsay's arms and withdrew her knee that was keeping Ramsay immobile. Able to move once more, Ramsay shifted backwards away from Sansa to stumble back onto the floor where his pants fell the rest of the way down his legs to pool at his feet. Ramsay bent down awkwardly removing his boots and removing his leggings glad to no longer feel physically restrained by them.

As Ramsay worked to remove the remainder of his clothing, Sansa slid off the bed waiting for him to finish undressing, and when Ramsay had done so, Sansa turned her back to face Ramsay looking back over her shoulder expectantly. Sansa didn't have to ask for his help in disrobing as Ramsay automatically maneuvered up behind her to begin the task of unclasping her dress for her as he'd fastened it before their dinner. Sansa was pleased to note that this time when Ramsay's fingers worked to undress her there was no longer that cringe of remembered abuse. The memory was still there, but it no longer lingered to cut her further; Sansa had moved on to leave those sentiments in the past where they belonged putting her heart and mind at peace.

As the last hook was undone, Sansa let the dress sag from her form gracefully stepping out of her dress and bringing it back to the armoire to replace it alongside her other garments. She glanced back over to Ramsay who wordlessly observed her movements an ever-present interest lighting his eyes; Sansa smiled softly displaying her mutual fondness for him, "Please pick up your clothes and bring them to me, Ramsay; I would like to put them away in the wardrobe."

Ramsay glanced down at the discarded outfit, typically he saw tidying up to be beneath him, a servant's job, but Ramsay shrugged inwardly reasoning that he was to be staying in the lady's quarters now, and women tended to be far more orderly with their things. Ramsay followed Sansa's command bringing the items over to her although his gait was stiff with a sore back from the positioning Sansa had held him in (the exertion of twisting about to the intensity of her stinging hairbrush had made him quite taut.) Walking over to hand Sansa his suit, Ramsay was made aware of how taxing Sansa's punishment had been on him physically as well as emotionally.

Focusing on this ailment had Ramsay's mind turning over what else he currently suffered from feeling the acute persisting heat on his tenderized flesh making Ramsay reflexively reach back and gently rub at the niggling pain that radiated from his posterior. Standing by the armoire, the full length mirror was set to face them, and Ramsay found an impulse now to see exactly what Sansa had done to him although he highly regretted taking that glimpse once he had. His brow furrowed and the frown that had slipped away earlier returned reflecting Ramsay's misery at the illuminating discovery of bruising and welts he observed. He belatedly noted that Sansa had already hung up his outfit and was watching the mirror's image of him scrutinizing his swollen ass from over his shoulder as he lightly ran his hands up and down his inflamed flesh. Realizing Sansa was seeing this display, Ramsay quickly turned back to her with an instant flush of humiliation dropping his hands to his sides and averting his gaze as he subconsciously cleared his throat.

Sansa could see clearly the damage she'd done to him, and although she did not regret delivering the discipline, a part of her did feel a want to mollify Ramsay's suffering. She stated gently, "Go lie on your stomach atop the bed; I will seek out the maester and return with a salve to help soothe your discomfort."

Her words did nothing to assuage the embarrassment Ramsay felt; the last thing he wanted was for further rumor to circulate about a need of a healing ointment for him. Ramsay's eyes shot up from the floor fixing Sansa with a worried gaze. He shook his head as he blurted out, "No, no! I'm fine… really."

Sansa merely sighed grabbing a simple winter nightgown from the wardrobe and throwing it over herself having already decided her course of action, "Nonsense. I won't be long, Ramsay. The maester should already have the ingredients needed to make a tincture to ease your soreness. Stop being so stubborn, and go lie in the bed to await my return."

As she spoke, Sansa gathered a coat and donned slippers to make herself decent enough to traverse the halls of the castle. Ramsay watched her move about the room readying herself with mouth slightly agape wanting to object but knowing that Sansa would not be deterred from her given course once her mind was set. Frustrated by her determination, Ramsay glowered in defeat turning to bound over to the bed. He angrily tossed the covers aside climbing into the bed only to then snatch the blankets back up and over himself flopping down in a huff and facing away from Sansa.

Sansa paused to watch Ramsay closing her eyes a moment and willing herself not to comment on Ramsay's blatant fit. She was unable to understand the reasoning he was so opposed to her wanting to ease his pain. Sansa chalked it up to Ramsay's ego and the fact that he was most likely upset that she'd witnessed him inspecting the injuries she'd dispensed and now held a bit of resentment for the pain she'd caused him. Let him sulk, Sansa resolved to herself that it wasn't worth getting upset with Ramsay over. Jon's words came back to her from dinner then as a reminder that she couldn't change everything about the man, and if it was one thing Ramsay was well known for was his moodiness. He would learn to curb that if he kept it up though as Sansa wasn't about to abide his man-tantrums like Roose did, but she could cut Ramsay a little slack for all that he'd recently been through.

Ramsay's eyes shifted about listening curiously to Sansa move to and finally out the door, and only once he knew that he was alone in the room did Ramsay turn back to face the door. He felt absurd that now that Sansa had departed, he wanted to be sure he was able to see her when she returned.

***…***

It didn't take Sansa long to make her way to Maester Wolkan's quarters, and she was relieved to see the glow of candlelight illuminating from beneath his door. She knocked lightly taking a step back and awaiting an answer. The sound of shuffling feet resonated closer until Sansa heard the unlatching of the wooden bar from the other side of the door as Maester Wolkan carefully peered out into the hallway. Seeing who had come to pay him a visit, surprise registered on the man's face, and he straightened hauling the door open quickly as he stuttered out, "My Lady? What… what brings you at this hour?"

Sansa frowned apologetically, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Maester, but I have a request that only you can fill." Throughout Sansa speaking, Maester Wolkan was nodding his head in automatic agreement, "I will help in any way I can, milady. What is it exactly that you need of me?" Sansa smiled appreciatively, "I need a balm for…" she paused a moment considering her wording, "… for swelling." He was looking Sansa over with a puzzled expression instinctively trying to see the ailment that she described but not questioning further other than to state simply, "We will need to go down to the apothecary room where my supplies are kept." Sansa nodded as Maester Wolkan stepped out of his room to oblige her. She quickly followed after his lumbering pace, "Thank you, Maester Wolkan, your devoted service will be well rewarded; I promise."

The two had traveled down to the maester's workshop where he fiddled through several jars pulling out a mortar and pestle to grind a mixture of sheep's lard, olive oil, and a purple juice that Sansa was informed was crushed from the petals of wildflowers. As Sansa had predicted, it hadn't taken long for the medicine man to make the salve, and in no time, she was headed back to her chambers with a wooden bowl containing a fair amount of the mixture.

The night watchmen had asked Sansa for any specific instructions regarding Ramsay as she'd left, and when Sansa had said to just leave Ramsay be, they had nodded their assent and repositioned themselves as they had been while she had been in the room. Returning to her chambers, both guards glanced at Sansa and then the bowl in her hands before one impassively reached over to unlatch her door and step inside to hold it open for Sansa to enter. As Sansa passed through the threshold, the two men hadn't laughed or smiled, but both sets of eyes had peered in to the chamber curiously fixing their sights directly on Ramsay who was laying in Sansa's bed looking up at her having been anxiously awaiting her return.

Feeling their gaze upon him, Ramsay's eyes shot to the door cringing internally observing their eyes meeting one another before shutting the door. Ramsay bitterly assumed that what their eyes shared was amusement at his expense likely from having some inkling as to what the concoction Sansa returned with was for. The whole while Sansa had been gone in fact, Ramsay had been able to do nothing BUT think about who might see what she carried back to him or ask what Sansa was doing. Ramsay's stare focused on the bowl and its gelatinous contents as Sansa laid it on the nightstand casually turning on her heel and treading over to the armoire to replace her coat, nightgown, and slippers. Ramsay hardly noticed too busy contemplating on the notion of the rumors that he was so sure the guardsmen would be circulating about him. Those men, who unlike Temeric and Cecil, never spoke to him other than to give him direction, and even though they'd never been rude to him like his first two guards, Ramsay was positive that they didn't like him. His stomach twisted; they would have heard the way he'd carried on screaming his agony like a bleating goat, and it would be yet another sordid tale of how low he'd fallen.

All of these pent-up insecurities manifested into a deepening frown to paint Ramsay's face, and Sansa took it in well. Her brow furrowed in concern as she made her way back over to the bed asking softly, "Ramsay, are you alright?" Ramsay didn't respond; he wouldn't even look at her. Was he still sulking over the fact that she'd left to retrieve the salve for him? The persistence of Ramsay's bad attitude was starting to darken Sansa's mood, and she snatched the wooden bowl from the nightstand and just as quickly tore down the blankets covering Ramsay's lower back, ass, and thighs.

Ramsay immediately noticed the shift in Sansa's demeanor being drawn away from his inner turmoil to refocus his attention back on her. When Sansa had spoken to him, Ramsay had been so lost in thought he hadn't even acknowledged her question. His expression was a bit stupefied now by the sudden action on Sansa's part to divest him of his coverings in such a violent manner. Sansa stunned him further by delivering two sharp slaps, one to each of his cheeks that had Ramsay jumping and letting out a gasp coupled with an uncontainable squeal of surprise. Ramsay's jaw dropped and his eyes widened in utter shock as he exclaimed, "What?! What was that for!"

Sansa narrowed a dangerous glare on him, "If I need to explain, perhaps I should put this bowl down and revisit a more thorough understanding upon your buttocks that I don't appreciate the way you've been behaving!" Ramsay's hip jutted up from the bed unconsciously turning the target of her ire away from Sansa as his hand darted back to brush against the fresh sting that she'd dispensed. Sansa still looked rather upset, so Ramsay raised his hand out to her in supplication to stop any further advance quickly rebounding, "Wait! I… I'm sorry! I wasn't trying to make you angry!"

Incensed by Ramsay positioning his ass out of her range, Sansa reached out to grab his hip and rolled him back flat on his stomach. She spat reproachfully as she did so, "Do not turn from me, Ramsay! If I deign to punish you, I will not have you working against my efforts!" From the previous attitude Ramsay held to this resistance, Sansa's immediate worry was that she was giving Ramsay too much leeway and was in threat of losing the control over him she'd attained. If that were the case, Ramsay could become a danger, and that was the last thing Sansa wanted after the two of them had come this far.

A rash of goosebumps and a tremor fled over the entirety of Ramsay's body as he found himself drawn rigid. Every nerve ending tingling in dreaded anticipation at the feeling of Sansa's fingers sinking into his hip and roughly yanking him back into place. His ass bobbed up squirming momentarily to the threat it now faced, but Ramsay didn't move himself out of Sansa's influence. Instead, Ramsay turned back to gaze at her with a mournful mien as he moaned out an explanation, "Please! I wasn't trying to avoid your hand; my… my body reacted on its own accord!"

His earnest reply and expression had the irritation drain from Sansa's face as she sighed, "Alright; maybe I was being a tad harsh with you. I didn't mean to lose my temper, but you've been moping since I mentioned going to fetch you this balm, and I grew weary of it. If something is bothering you this badly, Ramsay, you need to talk to me. I can't read your mind, and your recent behavior has me disconcerted."

Ramsay's jaw worked staring up at Sansa with ingrained fear; his mind racing at the implications of her statement. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to her, it just felt like he was choking on the words jumbling in his throat. He swallowed tearing his eyes away from her as he nervously fidgeted with the pillow until finally, he found the nerve to push it out, "They know about us. They all know what…" Ramsay's voice trilled, "They know what you do to me, and I can't stop thinking about what I've become in their eyes." Ramsay's lips pursed turning down with a slight tremor; he was unable to say any more as his eyes glazed over. He closed them in an effort not shame himself further by crying from this simple admission as bile rose in his throat from how awful those words hurt to say. Voicing them seemed to compound all the negativity Ramsay felt regarding such personal losses and made the fears he grieved feel all the more real.

Sansa's heart sang pity for Ramsay then, and she stepped forward to caress his neck pacifyingly. Leaning down, she placed a soft kiss on Ramsay's cheek tutting gently in his ear, "You've become much more to me. Try not to let what those think who do not care for you concern you; such thoughts will only serve to make you miserable, Ramsay."

She didn't deny his fears; how could she? They both knew that Sansa had no control over rumors spread any more than he did, and this recognition only sobered Ramsay further to his own statement's truth. Ramsay opened his eyes turning to face her, his expression was exposed and filled with unrest as he spoke impassioned by the inner torment he felt, "How can I not? I don't even know who I am anymore, or who you want me to be. I'm… I'm trying," Ramsay swallowed hard, jaw locking, as his eyes shifted over Sansa's mien; he wanted to say that he was trying not to let what he knew his life had become embitter him, that he felt lost, without purpose, but those words would not flee his throat. Instead, Ramsay let silence reign as he stared at Sansa with a longing for her to give him some form of peace.

Sansa stroked the side of Ramsay's face tenderly, "I see you are, and I know what you face to be a hard journey. The man you were was filled with holes of emptiness, and who I want you to be is a person neither of us know but who has been coming to light evermore every day we spend together. You've come further than I could have ever hoped or imagined, so please, Ramsay, keep trying. For me, and for you. I promise that you will find consolation in the grievance you suffer now, later." As she spoke, Sansa lowered herself to sit on the bed dipping her fingers into the wooden bowl and began to apply it gently to Ramsay's welted ass.

As the cool crème made contact to his swollen skin, Ramsay flinched going rigid, but after a moment, his body relaxed under Sansa's ministrations. It felt good to have the mixture lightly worked in to his heated flesh, but he didn't thank her, although a part of him niggled Ramsay that he should. The ointment served to calm the intensity of the burn even if it did not rid him of the tenderness he felt., and for that, Ramsay most definitely was appreciative. His gaze fell away as Ramsay digested Sansa's words. He didn't really know what to reply, but Sansa didn't seem to expect an answer from him busying herself with meticulously tending to his backside.

Several long minutes passed this way, and once she had finished, Sansa quietly set the bowl back on the nightstand, wiped the tincture from her hands with a rag, and returned to climb into the bed and cover them both. Ramsay had taken to just observing Sansa flowing about the room, and when she had settled next to him, he turned to lay his head facing her with that same awe he often projected upon her. Sansa smiled at him moving forward to peck his nose with a soft kiss, and when Ramsay reactively smiled bashfully back at her, Sansa kissed his lips tenderly. She retracted still affixing Ramsay with a grin while lightly brushing her fingers through his bangs, "Do you feel any better?"

He did, and Ramsay found himself grinning widely as he nodded, "You have that effect on me." Sansa brightened at Ramsay's response and widening smile; she was satisfied with the progress they were making and relieved of her own silent fears that haunted her on whether Ramsay had started to backslide. Sansa silently chided herself for overreacting making a promise to herself that in the future she would work to get Ramsay to talk to her when he started to brood before her own aggravation was piqued by witnessing it.

Getting Ramsay to talk though felt like pulling teeth, and even though the two slaps that she'd delivered were a bit unjustified, they had gotten Ramsay to finally let go of what was eating at him. Sansa leaned in with closed eyes departing another soft kiss on Ramsay's eager lips. Ramsay was more than willing to engage Sansa's passion, and moved closer as her arm wrapped carefully around his ribcage to pull him to her chest tucking Ramsay covetously into her side. Ramsay exhaled a deepening sigh of relaxation adjusting himself to lay comfortably against her as Sansa rolled onto her back letting Ramsay settle his shoulder into the crook of her arm while his head lay upon her breast as a pillow. She reflexively squeezed Ramsay kissing the top of his head affectionately as the two became comfortable.

Ramsay's whole poise was more relaxed after finally opening himself up enough to tell Sansa what was really upsetting him. There was an understanding shared, and that was one thing their relationship was lacking Sansa realized. There was honesty, but it was truncated by so many walls each were still holding in place, and those blockades would have to fall if they were ever to gain true insight on how the other was feeling without coming to altercations like that which they had just underwent. When the morning came, Sansa planned to make a point of getting to know Ramsay better, and she would open herself more to him as well. She was going to have to broach the topic of where she'd gone and what she'd learned on her journey before Ramsay inevitably queried about it she knew, and it would be better if she opened with the topic than he. One thing at a time, Sansa ruminated; for the time being, she only wanted to sink into this respite they now shared. There would be plenty of time for revelations tomorrow.


	39. Unveil

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Unveil

Ramsay's head bobbed up and down atop Sansa's rising chest. She'd fallen asleep some time ago far more exhausted from her day than Ramsay had been. Propped upon her heaving breast, Ramsay could see over the footboard of the bed and watched the once raging fire dwindle into softly glowing embers. The rest of the keep had long since fallen asleep, but slumber eluded Ramsay as thoughts of all that he and Sansa had been through in the space of one night populated his mind. Ramsay ruminated now on how completely shell-shocked at every turn he felt, so much between them had changed in such a short amount of time. It was staggering to digest the contrast of what their relationship had been to what it had become, but as confused as he was by the rapidity of what was happening to and with him, Ramsay knew that he welcomed the transformation.

Life was getting better for him Ramsay had to admit, even if there were still many aspects of Sansa's choices concerning him that he wasn't very fond of. What Sansa did give him offered more of a connection with another person than he'd ever had in many respects, so it was easier to look past the other not-so-pleasant facets and be happy enough for the good tidings he received. Ramsay still couldn't help but silently hope that Sansa would continue to give him more freedoms soon though as living under such stricture was suffocating to his wanderlust nature to roam and his predilections to be free to do as he pleased. As it was though, he was content to be resting in Sansa's embrace while she slept knowing how much she had grown to trust him. Thinking on these sentiments filled him with an inward glow of bliss, and Ramsay found himself reflexively squeezing Sansa needing affirmation that this shared moment was in fact real. Sansa made him feel complete in a way Ramsay had never fathomed was possible, and he was grateful that he could be so lucky as to have found forgiveness and a second chance from her. He wanted to make Sansa proud of him; it was the last thing his thoughts correlated before Ramsay's reflections began to drift into a haze of serenity to eventually succumb to the folds of unconsciousness that incessantly ebbed at his waking mind.

***…***

Tormund took a deep pull on his mug settling back in his chair as he shook his head in obvious disbelief, "You Starks," he let go a humorless laugh, "With your sister requesting I carve a wooden cock for her," his broad grin spread to encompass a lecherous nod, "I get why she's keeping him around!" Tormund's mood shifted to a state of confusion as he continued, "But you, I half expected you'd have sent the cocky prick's head rolling from his shoulders by the time we'd returned. I sure as fuck didn't see you asking me to keep my people from taking a go at him." Glancing at the seriousness held in Jon's expression, the burly man shrugged nonchalantly, "I can tell them he's off limits, but I can't say they'll take much heed to the warning; you know well that we freefolk don't follow the same codes you tart-arses do."

Jon's countenance remained severe as he responded with concern lacing his words, "That's not good enough; I need more reassurance from you." Out of all the people in his keep, the Wildling army was in no way under Jon's command, and with the hostilities he'd witnessed just from the walk he and Ramsay had gone on, Jon felt it was best to address the matter sooner rather than later.

Tormund sighed in annoyance waving dismissively at Jon's worry, "Alright; for you and your sister's sake, I'll express a personal interest that the little shit comes to no harm. From what goes around the campfires, most are satisfied the cunt's getting somewhat what he had coming to him for his worthless threats," The grizzly man's countenance shifted revealing a jovial smirk in Jon's direction as he rose from the hearth with a swagger that denoted weariness, "For those not happy about it, I reckon they can be convinced one way or another." Not waiting for a response, Tormund saluted a farewell toast with his mug before turning to lumber back out into the courtyard where most of the Wildlings had taken up residence in the Stark keep.

Jon nodded raising his own cup out of respect for his friend as he watched the Wildling leader depart. Once Tormund had disappeared down the hall, Jon leaned back in his chair taking a long swig of ale. He was relieved that the red-headed warrior was amiable to his cause even if he didn't agree or understand why Jon would care. Jon had to ask himself that very question quite often when regarding Ramsay, and he knew mostly it was for his sister's happiness, but he couldn't deny there was more to it now having taken Ramsay under his wing.

Jon's brooding eyes moved back to the fire contemplating the mess Ramsay posed just being left alive. It had been hard to calm the nobles that rallied for Ramsay's death when they'd first retaken the hold, and after this most recent event with the Umbers, Jon expected a resurgence of outcries for Ramsay's head. Jon had had to convince the gathered aristocracy in a heated debate that Sansa and he had a handle on the former possessor of Winterfell. Ramsay was their prisoner, captured in their keep, so they held the rights to see justice met on their own terms. Unlike the political courts in King's Landing, when Ned Stark had ruled these lands, the nobles were always allowed to freely voice their concerns on such matters and typically came to a political agreement (even if that agreement was voiced in bitter growls of refute.)

Most respected Jon's decision although begrudgingly so; none had stormed out of the assembly, so Jon had taken that his stance on Ramsay's fate had not caused any dissension in the ranks of those who now agreed to be his bannermen. With the prospect of White Walkers marching from the Wall, the last thing Jon needed was for those he trusted to be divided on his ability to make sound judgments.

He had been given the title: King of the North, but that didn't guarantee Ramsay's safety from someone trying to take matters into their hands on a personal note or discreetly by a house that held a grudge that surpassed their courtly civilities, but Ramsay was safer now than had Jon not had a lengthy grueling discussion in the grand hall to address the matter (something Sansa was blessedly unaware of.) Such politics the Wildlings were not subject to, so Tormund's agreement to help contain his people set Jon's body to finally loosen from its rigid poise feeling this hazard may have finally been neutralized.

Throughout Jon and Tormund's conversation, Davos had sat across from the men quietly observing them, and when Tormund had left the room, his sights now hovered on Jon. When the silence had persisted long enough, Jon finally met his gaze, and the two men shared a look that weighed heavily in the room. Jon grimaced, "You think I'm a fool to be keeping him alive; don't you?"

Davos' brow raised inquisitively, "I said nothing of the sort, but something tells me that you feel foolish all the same."

Exhaling deeply, Jon gulped down the remainder of his brew leaving a long pause between them before resignedly admitting, "I don't rightly know what I feel."

Gravely nodding his acknowledgement of the man's plight, Davos leaned in closer settling his elbows onto his knees, "Well, if I may be so bold as to offer counsel, I would suggest that you figure that out and soon."

Jon regarded the sage old man returning the nod, "Aye, I suppose I already have. It's not the choice my father would have made, and dismissing the justice others are clamoring for makes me feel as though I've cheated them their due to see Ramsay executed for his crimes against the North."

Davos' countenance shifted to an uneasy curiosity, "Will you execute him then to keep the peace?"

Jon's stare bore into Davos sharing the sincerity therein, "No, I won't be the one to put him to death; if it will ever come to pass, that decision rests with my sister. I handed Ramsay over to her at her behest; he'd hurt her most, and I saw it as fitting that she be the one to choose how he'd be done in. I'd not thought of Sansa keeping Ramsay alive or the repercussions that would bring down on our heads, but having seen what she's done with him… I am stunned to her charms. She has won over the beast in him in a way one would not think possible from a man like Ramsay Bolton. I can't trust him like she does, but even so, I can say with certainty that I believe my sister has him well in hand. To that degree, I'll not waver on my conviction or my word, but I admit it still concerns me nonetheless."

Davos digested Jon's statement clasping his hands to rest his chin upon them; his eyes drifted in thought before he responded, "In the many years that I served Stannis, he was never a man to forgive his enemies; I can't say that I'd have disagreed with him regarding the fate of any of the Boltons. Their poor reputations proceed them witnessed boldly with their banner displaying a flayed man. I've seen their mark on the world and would have seen it a better place without them. I've also witnessed with my own experience how powerful forgiveness can turn the tide of a man's view into something entirely different. I was that man for differing reason, and what I learned has changed me wholly. Your sister has made an investment in Bolton's bastard for better or worse, and if you support her judgement, I will stand by your side."

A small appreciative smile cropped on Jon's lips. Davos' pledge grounded his wavering worry; even if many of the houses stood divided against he and Sansa's stance to preserve Ramsay's life, Jon knew that those, whose advice he respected most, still stood with him, and they would survive untied regardless of the controversy. Jon's weighty expression lightened denoting a hint of the alleviation he felt, "Your allegiance is something I do not take lightly especially considering the circumstances. Thank you."

Davos simply nodded giving Jon a small smile that said all that needed to be said between them.

***…***

The sun had risen high in the sky when Ramsay's eyes fluttered open to the realization that he was alone in bed. His breath hitched in a stutter-stop motion feeling at the empty spot where Sansa had once laid as his addled mind took in his surroundings. Ramsay shot up reflexively on one elbow whipping his head around the room to settle on Sansa. His frame relaxed from the tenseness that had settled in his joints at the detection that she'd not actually left him behind.

Sansa was fully dressed, sitting at her vanity pinning the last braid in place of an intricately designed bun. Having sensed his movement, Ramsay caught the reflection of Sansa's gaze on him in the mirror. When confirmation that he'd seen her was made, Sansa afforded him a small smirk chiding him playfully, "I was afraid I was going to have to wake you if you did not do so on your own."

Blinking and wiping the sleep from his eyes, Ramsay moved to sit up and address her properly. He instantly regretted putting his full weight on his bruised posterior as his body jerked promptly shifting to his side upon recognition of the pain that still radiated in waves across his ass. The ache had only been dampened by the escape of slumber he noted disdainfully. Hissing his discomfort, Ramsay's sights drifted away from Sansa to the bed to hide the immediate shame that cropped within him. His face flushed into a heated display feeling weak for Sansa having observed this involuntary wince.

Sansa's ministrations felt worse the day after as did every spanking he'd received thus far, and finding himself in this state was becoming entirely too familiar Ramsay ascertained sourly. He had begun to anticipate just what he would have to look forward to in the coming days while waiting for the swelling and bruising to lessen enough for him to find a chance to sit where it wouldn't cause him a jolt of soreness. Sansa was regarding him thoughtfully with a hint of concern decorating her features, but Ramsay wasn't about to remark on the tenderness her spanking still afforded him. Even so, Ramsay found that his thoughts could not keep from dwelling on the chaffing the simple action had caused him emotionally and physically. Sansa had made good on her threat, and Ramsay would not be forgetting any time soon the imprint her hairbrush had made on him.

Seeing a growing pout forming on Ramsay's face elicited by the cringe that had proceeded it, Sansa rose from her chair and casually moved back over to the bed to inspect him. She fussed lightly, "Let's have a look at you," her wrist made a twirling motion as a signal for Ramsay to roll over and present his bottom for her perusing.

It was an order he didn't wish to comply with, so Ramsay's frown deepened as he mumbled out his disgruntlement, "I'm fine… I don't need any tending."

Sansa tutted, "Oh stop sulking; I have plenty of balm for several applications. I can tell that you are pained, so turn on to your stomach, and let me help you hurt less."

Ramsay's lips pursed in frustration, but he didn't offer Sansa any further resistance as he flipped onto his stomach with a resigned sigh. Sansa watched Ramsay settle into place taking up the bowl with the healing mixture and relaxing onto the bed beside him. The grimace on Ramsay's face remained although it wavered slightly as Ramsay peered back over his shoulder at her; his eyes held a mix of want for her care coupled with an undertone of insolent opposition. Ramsay rocked his hips agitatedly back and forth; after her accusation that he was brooding, he had wanted to challenge Sansa's instruction even though the application of the crème did feel very soothing to his swollen flesh. It nettled Ramsay to be told, instead of asked, to accept this treatment. But by this point in their relationship, Ramsay knew well that deferring to Sansa's choices for him over his own was something he was going to have to become accustomed to as a new way of life.

These contentions caused a flare of restlessness to rush through him and an impulse to rebel that momentarily rose to the surface, but as Sansa began gently applying the cooling ointment, Ramsay had to question what exactly was he fighting here? He tracked the deftness of Sansa's fingertips working the salve into his bottom with the utmost care as his mind wandered absorbing the action and drifting to contemplate where his aggrieved sentiments were fixated. The realization finally came that all he was really doing was making an internal counterproductive battle out of Sansa trying to make him feel better. He was resisting Sansa only as a point to wallow in self-misery to spite himself. This was a line of thinking that Sansa was steadfastly plucking out of him like one weeded a garden, and just like a garden, Ramsay knew that Sansa would be vigilant in enduring no weeds took hold to despoil her hard work. His pride and stubbornness were working to get him in trouble Ramsay bitterly surmised. He deflated sheepishly in the wake of these reflections pulling the cylindrical pillow to and under his chin; it wasn't lost on Ramsay that this continued trend often led back to a pained backside.

Long minutes passed in silence as Sansa applied the salve until Ramsay sensed a shift in her demeanor. Sansa's hunger was palpable through the way her fingers manipulated his flesh, and Ramsay turned back warily observing how her eyes now roamed his flesh with an intensity that spoke of the avarice she felt. Every swipe across his backside was now coupled with a noticeable groping that had Ramsay's body tightening with anticipation. Her thumb glided across the crack of Ramsay's ass roughly parting him to flash a peek at what she'd wanted to see exposed for her own decedent desires. The slight tremble this created in Ramsay's form sent Sansa's breath to catch in her throat before markedly speeding up to the imagery of climbing up behind Ramsay and driving her glass cock aggressively into him as he lay so invitingly before her. This internal fantasy was causing her to grip the globe she was massaging a little too tightly eliciting a whimper to escape Ramsay as his bottom reactively squirmed to the pressure being applied to his sensitive cheek.

Sansa instantly released his flesh stilling to collect herself as her vision darted to take in the uneasiness etched on Ramsay's face. He was not blind to her want, and even though he did not object to her fondling him as she did, Sansa could tell by the expression he bore that he wasn't wanting to be taken as she wanted to take him now. Her gaze abashedly moved down to the bowl in her hand dipping her fingers into the tincture to tenderly smooth the mixture once more over the entirety of Ramsay's ass. Heeding from Ramsay's reaction that he wasn't wishing for such a sexual encounter with her, Sansa continued the task clinically pulling back on any urges to carnalize the act.

Ramsay's eyes never left her silently observing the nurturing caress that had replaced Sansa's lustful fondling until his body visibly loosened, and he felt secure that she had set aside her desires. A wave of gratitude washed over him as Ramsay laid his head back down on the pillow with a contented exhale. He wouldn't admit out loud that her pampering him like this regardless of his initial recoil for its application felt good bodily and internally knowing that she wanted to lessen the pain of the injuries she'd caused him.

Sansa smiled at Ramsay's relaxing figure with a touch of sadness; even after the leaps and bounds they'd made in their relationship, Ramsay still regarded her actions cagily as if she would still rape him if her want was great enough. Sansa supposed she couldn't blame Ramsay for his reticence since she'd slipped a few times going overboard with her desires to claim him. Ramsay had forgiven those transgressions easily and had even offered himself willingly to please her.

She'd repaid his generosity by stimulating his cock to orgasm while taking with him in the way she was growing quite fond of, but that hadn't given Ramsay a want to preform those acts for his own pleasure. Sansa longed for a point the two deeds would become synonymous, and Ramsay would crave her to take him just as much as she yearned to do it. That wasn't now though, and that fact disappointed the building sexual drive raging within her. Sansa had wanted another go with him before leaving the bed chamber, but she was patient and would respect Ramsay's silent disinterest at this juncture in hopes that he would be more willing later.

Rising from the bed, Sansa stated dispiritedly, "I'll get you something to wear, and we will take a walk through the Godswood." Her mind had shifted to the gravity of what she intended to address with him, and with these new concerns, all sexual appetites fled from her mind to focus on what must come next. Her heartbeat's tempo elevated to the ruminations of how Ramsay would take the news she was about to impart. He hadn't wanted to talk of his mother, how now would he feel to learn that the sole purpose of her journey was to seek the woman out? If she was to tell Ramsay about her trek out to see his mother, she decided to take him to the weirwood heart tree, a place of contemplation and meditation. It would set a calming atmosphere for such a conversation.

Ramsay's head lifted eyes widening to the prospect Sansa suggested; they hadn't been together in the castle's wooded grove since the day they'd been wed. He watched her stride over to the armoire to retrieve an outfit for him, and the sullen nature that Sansa wore like a burdening cloak about her shoulders only made this announcement feel ominous. He swallowed back his churning trepidation slipping off the mattress to quietly trail up behind her surveying Sansa's face as she sifted through his clothes considering each set before finally picking something suitable for the weather. Her gaze flicked over to take him in as she held out the clothing she'd selected, but her expression held no tells that Ramsay could read. Sansa was good at leaving him guessing when she chose to. She simply observed Ramsay with that same veneer while he donned each article she handed him, and as much as Ramsay wanted to ask more questions of her proclamation, he felt too disquieted by her mannerism to query further.

Once he was fully dressed, Sansa gave Ramsay a cursory nod moving to the coat rack by the door to adorn herself in furs. Ramsay mutely followed her opening the chamber's door to the sight of Temeric and Cecil leaning against the wall engaged in a heated debate. Temeric insisted, "It isn't the same at all! My father labored for old Hather smelting swords for the Battle of the Trident, and I'm telling you the numbers weren't as imbalanced as…" noticing the door swinging open, both men immediately dropped the conversation and straightened to attention.

Ramsay perked, a smile gracing his lips; it was a relief to see their friendly faces, "Gentlemen," Ramsay addressed them with the airs of nobility painfully groomed into him by his father's command. Opening the door wider for Sansa to exit, Ramsay waited for her to pass before moving up to keep an even pace with her gait. Coming out of Sansa's personal chambers dressed in finery with her by his side followed by Temeric and Cecil had Ramsay feeling much less like an escorted prisoner. Ramsay would have been strutting like a peacock under such circumstances normally, but hearing the tail end of a conversation linked to the culminating battle of Robert's Rebellion had instantly piqued his interest to want to renew the guard's conversation and satiate his curiosity.

The civil war between Rhaegar and Robert was legendary, and it was one of the few battles that had happened in his lifetime (even though he'd been but a boy when it had occurred seventeen years prior.) It was a bit of history he'd garnered quite a bit of knowledge about in his studies, and because it was a fascination for him, Ramsay had retained much of maester Medrick's teachings regarding it. Had Sansa not reproached him so thoroughly for his advice concerning military tactics the night before, Ramsay would have pursued the topic, but as it was, he didn't want to put Sansa in a bad mood especially considering the oddity of where she was intending to take him on their walk. It only enhanced the friction that had settled between he and Sansa propagating an uncomfortable silence as they traversed through the castle.

Sansa paused in the foyer once they had made their way to the door that led out to the courtyard; the servants had brought up Ramsay's clothes to her room, but not a cloak. Sansa nodded to the wall where Ramsay's furred wrap had been moved for easier access now that Jon had taken to having him get out for walks daily. Wordlessly, Ramsay slipped the furs over his shoulders haphazardly buttoning the top clasp. As he did so, he intently peered at Sansa having glanced at her several times during their walk through the keep where she'd only resolutely stared ahead. This behavior had worried Ramsay wondering if he'd done something wrong to have had her acting so distant with him. He of course had no clue that Sansa was not avoiding him over carefully considering options on how best to communicate with him.

Noticing for the first time the anxiety she was causing him, Sansa moved forward pulling the shroud to cover the front of his chest more fully than Ramsay had done to ensure he stayed warm. His eyes softened to the treatment fixating on her as he often did with that same expression of devotion. The bliss Ramsay exuded provoked the corners of Sansa's lips to reveal a ready smile in the presence of Ramsay's unspoken appreciation. She adored this side of him even though the reason he was so receptive to so little attentive intimacy was because he'd never had it. To know the root of it saddened her and spiked a bitter scorn for Ramsay's mother. Sansa found the need to chase away her memory with a soft kiss to the middle of Ramsay's forehead. It was hard now not see the damage done to Ramsay by this woman, and it hardened Sansa's resolve to tell him the truth of what she had become privy to if only to allow Ramsay an outlet to speak about her.

The kind gesture followed by a tender kiss had brought an immediate relief to pass over Ramsay as the worry that had been building within him contracted under the reassurance that Sansa was still concerned for him. They exited into the courtyard veering to the right and moving towards the walled in forest where the wind would be lessened by the cover of trees. As they walked, Ramsay found his voice reminiscing on Sansa's beaming smile, "It's good to see you happy. I was starting to wonder if I'd somehow upset you."

Sansa caressed Ramsay's shoulder affectionately as she replied, "No; not at all; just the opposite actually." His eyes rose inquisitively taking in her statement and wondering why it was then that Sansa seemed so formal and nonplussed with him now. Ramsay didn't ask though sensing on some level that he would be finding out soon enough. He followed her as they walked; his eyes squinting protectively against the prism of brightness reflecting off the canopy of white. The snow had been falling nonstop throughout the night and lay untouched beyond the entrance to the grove where it had been otherwise muddied and cleared away by the everyday crisscrossing activity about the courtyard.

Sansa stopped at the entrance to the Godswood for a moment turning to Ramsay and holding out her hand for him to take. Ramsay did not hesitate to clasp his hand in hers as the two shared a smile born of two people sharing something innocent but feeling something far greater. These were sacred grounds to her family, and to enter them with Ramsay hand in hand after all that had transpired between them meant a lot to Sansa. To bring him to these hallowed grounds that forged a calm into her soul, Sansa knew without further doubt that she'd wholly forgiven him. More than Ramsay would understand, but that was okay; her faith wasn't spoken in mournful laments or dictated by hubris edicts as many that professed to follow the will of immortals. Sansa's faith lay quietly in her heart and bled out through her actions over words. Her mother had solidified within her that speaking of faith anyone could do, but to say nothing and act rightly proved to the gods your worth far more.

Their feet crunched in the snow, and the two moved closer in proximity as they trudged through the thickest banks until the ground became more solidified by the tree line. They could have released the link to resume walking next to each other, but neither wanted to let the other go, so they remained walking hand in hand as Sansa led the way to the weirwood heart tree. Temeric and Cecil seemed just as puzzled by the direction Sansa was taking them but only shared occasional glances that affirmed to each other silently that they were equally unnerved by this recent development of Sansa taking their charge into the castle's wooded coppice. Not that either man was particularly worried about Ramsay these days, but this was their first watch of him under Sansa's care over by themselves or with Jon, so there was an impending uncertainty as to how Ramsay would behave, doubly so when adding in the new strange environment.

All the trees were barren stripped by the winter, but the wierwood tree stood like a beacon calling out to those in its' vicinity to be drawn to its' colorful crimson leaves and alabaster trunk. The face upon the bark was grim as ever with eyes that wept trails of blood-red tears made of the tree's sap. Ramsay had never been the type to take stock in religion finding it mostly amusing due to the horrific tales of moralistic retaliation that tended to follow the choices of the wicked and unwise. He'd scoffed at such stories counting them off as foolish drivel, but as it was now, he could relate to many of the men in those stories reduced and penitent. Was that what this was? Was Sansa bringing him here for some sort of ritualistic service? She hadn't made mention of any sort of religious vows that she held dear in her time as his captive, he would have used them against her if she had, and since she had become his keeper, she'd not given any indication that she was devote, so why bring him here?

Seeing the questions in Ramsay's confused expression, Sansa stated, "I come here to think and find peace. In the summer, this small lake was a place that my siblings and I would wash away the heat and cares of the day with joyous laughter." Sansa stared longingly at the iced over lake as if all her happiest memories lay buried within the murky frozen barrier. Her vision moved back to Ramsay focusing an intensity upon him that kept him immobilized as she asked, "Will you sit with me? I wish to speak with you about my journey."

Ramsay nodded following her to carefully climb onto the sprawling roots that tendrilled from the tree into a mass of appendages that gripped the bank possessively. Sansa sat, and when Ramsay settled himself, she moved closer to bring their bodies to touch hip to hip as she reclaimed his hand. Ramsay stared as her hand enveloped his and her fingers gripped down tightly. It sent a tremor of elation to course through his body as he found his own hand squeezing hers back receptively. Ramsay's lips split into a quirky grin; this felt good; her closeness, the affection, all of it was exactly what Ramsay wanted. But… there was something off that Ramsay couldn't put his finger on. Sansa's mien denoted seriousness which belied the serenity of this scene, and even though he'd been preparing himself to hear news that would not settle well, when Sansa did finally speak, the words he may have said vacated him as a shock overtook his senses.

Turning to fully face Ramsay, Sansa pulled his hand into her lap leaning in to place her other hand gently on his knee as she spoke, "I do not wish to keep secrets from you, and I am almost certain what I have to say will come as a surprise." She straightened noting she had Ramsay's rapt attention as she delivered the news, "I did not tell you where I was going because I had decided it best to wait until I returned. Now that I have, I think you deserve to know my intentions. My voyage's sole purpose was to meet your mother."

Ramsay's gut twisted at Sansa's proclamation stumbling out lamely, "You… you what?"


	40. Roots

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Roots

Her words hit him like a collapsing avalanche, and all Ramsay could do was stare at Sansa in shocked horror unsure if what he'd just heard was reality or a figment of his imagination. As the impact of the revelation subsided, an immediate rage coursed through him. Betrayal swirled and cinched at his heart to know that Sansa had gone off to meet with his mother against his wishes (even if not said implicitly the implication had been made.) What Sansa had done was far worse than bringing the past back up again; she had excavated it to manifest from a memory into pointed action. What did she hope to garner from communicating with that cunt? Was she looking for ways to hurt him further than the physical pain and humiliation she'd already put upon him by drudging up a person he'd rather forget?

Ramsay's jaw cemented tightly baring his teeth as his body became rigid. He hadn't spoken other than his exclamation of initial surprise when Sansa had announced her tidings, but his fury was evident in the glare he penetrated her with. Recoiling from Sansa's handhold, Ramsay abruptly stood with shaking clenched fists. It was the first time since this new relationship between them had formulated that he'd felt anything beyond adoration for Sansa or fear of her reprisal should he upset her. The impulse surged within Ramsay then to slap her for such an insult (the instantaneous reaction he would have taken had he have been the man he was prior to Sansa's unique conditioning.) He was furious, but Ramsay wasn't so bold as to react on his anger with physical violence anymore. That man was a fading memory to whom Ramsay had become, but the hurt of this discovery was too palpable for him not to let some of his roiling emotions override the common sense within him warning Ramsay to dial back his feelings and approach this conversation rationally. To Sansa's immediate surprise, he snarled rancorously clenching his fists in his barely contained rage, "How dare you! You… you would slither around me like a treacherous snake to seek her out behind my back! To what purpose did it serve you?!"

Seeing the shift in Ramsay's mood, Temeric and Cecil stepped forward quickly flanking Ramsay with a stiff stance and a cautious air. Unlike with Jon, they would take no chances of this argument becoming a physical altercation and stood ready to respond should words escalate into a potential threat where their Lady could be harmed. Ramsay noted the guards preparing actions to take him down and shot both men a withering glower as silent affirmation that their advance was observed to be a slight to his person.

Sansa was staggered by Ramsay's negative reaction, but once she'd regained her composure, she rose from the Weirtree's roots taking swift strides to close the gap Ramsay had created between them. Sansa purposefully towered over him making a point to both him and herself that his volatile response did not frighten her. Her actions belied the inner turmoil she felt though as Sansa was in fact incredibly afraid, not because Ramsay could possibly strike out at her, but because she realized that slipping off to secretly meet his mother could make it hard for Ramsay to forgive and trust her again. It was no secret to Sansa that his trust in her was paramount to his rehabilitation and the furtherance of their continued relationship. She had anticipated that Ramsay would be unhappy to find out where she'd gone, but Sansa had no idea just how outraged he would become. From her previous worry though, she had had an inkling even if his reaction exceeded her expectation.

Regardless of his provocation to her news, Ramsay needed to calm down, or this discussion was going to quickly move beyond the scope of bringing the truth to light and into a battle ground where she would be forced to react negatively to deescalate the situation. Punishing Ramsay for his outburst when he had a right to be cross with her wasn't how Sansa wished to proceed, it made her feel guilty and domineering, but any sort of anger resurgence in Ramsay was dangerous and needed to be nipped in the bud before it was given wings to take flight. Sansa's resolve hardened, and she affixed Ramsay with a severe glare snatching his bicep in a painfully tight grip to pull him close. Her tone took on a crisp edge as she annunciated harshly, "You WILL control yourself, Ramsay, or I will give you reason to!"

Immediately absorbing the threat Sansa levied as her form hovered dangerously over him with a darkening disposition, Ramsay's fury broke like shards of ice slammed against stone deposed by a creeping apprehension of the trouble he may have just caused himself. Ramsay's throat bobbed nervously as wide startled blue orbs took Sansa in raptly. Her intimidating stance extinguished his rebellion like one blew the flame out on a candle. The hurt still radiated from Ramsay's expressive gaze though, and to see it Sansa couldn't help but to soften the fierceness she projected at him with a sigh of resignation.

The annoyance she'd carried receded to sympathy as the incited meekness she'd instilled in Ramsay was brought to the forefront with so simple a gesture. It felt like there was no medium ground for them. Pushing Ramsay back into a mindset of being fearful of her was not at all what she wanted. Sansa loosened the handhold on Ramsay's bicep drawing her palms up to lightly cup his rigid shoulders as she addressed him gently, "Please, come back and sit with me. There was no cloak and dagger agenda to my journey. I never meant to cause such strife in you. I simply did not tell you because I thought it would have been easier for you and Jon to get along if you didn't know where I was going." Sansa's lip turned up in a slight grin reaching a hand up to tenderly brush the bangs from Ramsay's eyes as she continued, "Besides, I suspect you would have been far unrulier in my absence if I had informed you of my intent."

A frown protruded on Ramsay's face as his gaze shifted to glare down at the snow. Irrespective of a want to vehemently protest Sansa's statement, Ramsay only dismissively grumbled, "You don't know that." He refused to recognize the truth of Sansa's statement justifying internally that heedless of his possible actions, she should have still told him.

Sansa tilted her head raising a curious brow at Ramsay's diminished reply. Her smile broadened as she admitted, "No, I don't suppose that I do. It was a poor assumption on my part."

It mollified Ramsay partially to hear Sansa acknowledge she could have misjudged him (although both knew that she was more than likely correct in her assessment of his probable behavior had she told him her objective prior to her departure.) Ramsay relaxed under her sympathetic tone, but he still hadn't forgiven her. Making an outward show that he wasn't willing to let the slight go so easily, Ramsay dramatically huffed squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms about his puffed chest in subtle defiance, a physical representation of his unhappiness to her newly revealed secret. It wasn't the best way to portray his sentiments on the matter, but it was the only way Ramsay felt he could without raising Sansa's ire.

Lifting her chin, Sansa's placating smile fell away in the face of Ramsay's persisting disgruntlement. She accepted Ramsay's displeasure given her news, but him wallowing in resentment was getting them nowhere. His agitation was starting to affect her mood, and Sansa found herself folding her own arms becoming exasperated by the tension between them. Sansa lectured tiredly, "You are upset, and you have a right to be, but there is no undoing the past, Ramsay. I am sorry that I hurt you with my choice, but I do not regret my decision. I would rather sit and talk with you here and now, but I will not force you. If you are too aggrieved to speak on what I've just informed you, the guards can escort you back to our quarters, and we can discuss the matter later."

Wide eyes rose to regard Sansa as Ramsay's resolve was visibly shaken. His arms dropped to his sides losing the momentary stubborn stance he'd taken as he hurriedly blurted out, "No! I… I am displeased, but I'd rather not stop our conversation because of it. I'm ready to hear of the tale you wished to regale me with." He really wasn't ready to hear it, but Ramsay eagerly wanted to know all the same. It had been almost fifteen years since he'd seen his mother, half a lifetime ago, and even though internally the mere mention of his mother incensed Ramsay, a part of him was still very curious as to what she had said about him.

His rational side predicted nothing good, but a hopeful spark of the child she'd neglected wished to hear that she may remember him with a fondness that mothers were envisioned to express upon their progeny just because that child had come from her womb. These conflicting thoughts, old grievances that clawed their way to the surface within him now, changed Ramsay's countenance to reflect a disquiet that had his shoulders slumping as he visibly deflated. He felt defeated to even desire such a reaction from the woman who had made it well known to him that he was a blight in her life that could not be loved.

Sansa observed Ramsay's demeanor, and her heart ached from the portrayal of reconciled pain etched on his face. It hurt to evoke this wound in him, but burying it was only serving to create animosity in Ramsay's heart. This woman had done enough damage; it was time to scour her memory clean and give Ramsay the chance to grow away from his mother rather than letting the taint she'd laid within him continue to fracture the progress she and Jon had brought out of him. To do this, Ramsay needed to be able to talk about her, and Sansa hoped that doing so would allow the mental hold his mother gripped him with to falter and in time diminish.

Wrapping her hand lightly around his, Sansa pulled on him gently, and without further word, Ramsay allowed her to lead him back to their previous seating. The roots held the two aloft from the snow, and Ramsay found himself pulling at the stubs of growth that protruded along the thick trunk of the vine, anything to divert his attention from focusing solely on Sansa. This continued for several minutes before Ramsay, wary of the silence between them, chanced to dip his head to the side and cautiously peek over at her.

She had been waiting for Ramsay to show her he was ready to continue offering him a soft smile that reverberated the love she had begun to feel for him. Ramsay's intense gaze held a fragility to it that even though he had said nothing of the urgency he felt to know what Sansa would tell him, it was clear that the mystery of the unsaid served to terrorize him. He was afraid of what Sansa had learned; he was scared that she would see what his mother had seen in him as if just speaking to the woman would have deposited a seed of affliction to sour any sense of care Sansa could muster for him. It was a ridiculous notion, but it plagued Ramsay all the same.

Sansa straightened as the memory of her visit flooded to populate her mind with images and ill sentiments, "I didn't stay long. I had so many questions I wanted to ask about you, about her, but I didn't ask many. The ones I did ask overwhelmed me to make a bigger discovery that I should never have gone to her asking those questions." Ramsay was hovering on every word she uttered, and this admission made him blink and refocus on Sansa with a crinkled brow of confusion. He didn't interrupt her though, and Sansa moved closer laying her hand tenderly on Ramsay's knee wanting to feel a deeper intimacy with him as she continued, "I should have waited for you to tell me about her when you were ready. I thought that she would subvert the hardship we carried and make it easier to understand you, but it wasn't my place to have gone around you. For that, I am sorry."

Her apology had Ramsay casting his vision away as a surge of guilt for the way he'd initially reacted resurfaced and served to embarrass him, "I'm sorry too. For getting so angry with you." His jaw worked decorating his face with a building malice, and he instinctively leaned forward and away from Sansa's inviting form scoffing with a tinge of pent up hostility, "She isn't worth it." It was an ingrained reaction to push others away when he started to feel vulnerable. Ramsay hadn't done so with Sansa before due to the oddity of their relationship and how out of sorts it had made him feel, but dialogue that delved into the meat of the person he was held their own barriers that had not been softened to Sansa's ministrations with him. It was the reason he'd regained that part of himself to counter her questions asking about his past initially. The reason Sansa had been so taken aback by Ramsay's brazen attitude that had emerged from his otherwise pacified disposition towards her their first dinner shared outside of the dungeon.

Those memories were a removed part of his self that Ramsay had pushed as far from reminiscing on as he possibly could when he'd entered the Dreadfort with his brother, Domeric, and left that old life behind. To say that was the last day Ramsay had thought on his mother would be a lie, but by then, he had hardened to the scars she had left. He had rolled them into a ball and sealed them away with all the pains that scorched his child's heart rendering him inert to feel much of anything at all. It was protection amassed by his first years of hurt that had left him riddled with the rage that never stopped wanting to ask the simple question of her, 'Why?'

Ramsay had stopped asking himself that question long ago meticulously layering over the need to be wanted with a rippling desire to find meaning for his existence. Heke had come to him then, like an oasis in the desert. Ramsay had latched on to the strange smelling man, his true Reek, that showered him with accolades and taught him a greater depravity than any man let alone child should ever know, but Reek was easily won especially if you played his games. He did not hug Ramsay or hold his hand nor did he show any form of tenderness, but Reek had bowed before him, had kissed his feet, and groveled self-depreciatingly to build Ramsay up. He had; in the worst of ways, Ramsay had been born anew the day that Heke had lumbered into his life.

That part of his life was gone in so many ways, but Sansa had sifted through the sands within him and pulled these monoliths from the murky graves Ramsay had cemented them to. And unlike in the past when something had reminded him of either his mother or Heke inadvertently, those identifications fell away from his notice like a drab grey on the horizon, but the context in which he was reminded now by Sansa so pointedly and unavoidably was like being slapped with a haze of vivid color that left him dazed to take in the spectrum.

Ramsay felt her hand leave his leg, and an eruption of cold swept through him to think that Sansa was mutually pulling away from him. Why did he expect any different? But Sansa hadn't, what she did do was inch next to him more fully, so that she could wrap her arm across the full length of his back to pull and clutch him bodily to her as she whispered affirmatively, "You're right; she isn't worth it."

He was rigid at the onset of this gesture, but Ramsay could not deny the want of it for long coupled by the words that called to him to stop resisting Sansa and let himself melt into her awaiting embrace. His anger twisted from his face morphing to confusion and finally to grief as the tumultuous waves of emotion lumped to form a heavy burden in his chest. He was struck mute unable to comprehend how he'd gone so long without feeling anything that to evoke these sentiments in him now instantly overwhelmed him as Sansa planted tender kisses down the side of his face. He didn't cry, but the feeling to do so ebbed at the numbing sensation to remain bitter and unforgiving to the inner turmoil roiling within him.

"I saw enough," Sansa's hardened voice broke through the fog Ramsay drifted through yanking his haunted sights up to project the fear he felt by the context of her statement and tone. Ramsay was relieved that Sansa's expression was not as harsh as her words, no, her words reflected her opinion of his mother. Sansa continued resolutely, "She isn't worth it because she didn't deserve you. She didn't have to tell me much because your story laid within the walls of the hovel she raised you and that which she would not say."

His eyes danced across Sansa's face absorbing the statement but conflicted by how it made him feel. He hadn't spoken of his mother to anyone of merit. Heke had been there to bear witness and therefore needed no explanation nor was his intellect expansive enough to draw correlation to ponder the depths of more than his base desires and immediate reactions to a boy that studied to emulate his profane debauchery. Roose avoided talking about her outside the offhanded mention of how he was illegitimately conceived; those conversations were never sympathetic or inviting to discuss or reflect on his raising with any semblance of concern, so Ramsay had taken to the art of circumventing the want to know and instead feigned disinterest himself.

To take Sansa's expression in now, Ramsay knew that was not the case with her. She very much wanted to relate to him, and this want from her clouded his senses to a unique predicament of flustered perplexity as a myriad of thoughts and responses jumbled together to tie him mentally in knots. Finally, Ramsay found himself speaking flatly in an effort to mask his true feelings from her because he was afraid to continue in this vein and risk revealing what he'd spent a lifetime learning to contain, "It's done then. We can move from discussing her if you found the answers you sought."

"Do you really believe that?" Sansa tilted her head inquiringly affixing Ramsay with a raised brow of curiosity that had him fidgeting uncomfortably. Sansa wasn't forcing him to speak, but her gaze held out the notion that she knew better and so did he. Ramsay turned away from her inquest unable to meet the silent query. Inwardly he hoped that Sansa would lay it to rest because as much as he contested that he didn't want to speak about his mother, the truth was that he did want to open up but the thought of doing so had a tremor building in his stomach making him feel physically ill of the prospect. Unlike prior to this encounter when the subject of her was brought up before, since that point, Ramsay had let Sansa in enough that he would not be able to deny her prying now. That fact he knew this to be the case scared him immensely.

Sansa sensed this in him as Ramsay's vision drifted to Cecil and Temeric's presence and a ripple of tension moved through his sinewy muscles. As much as she wanted to push more from Ramsay, Sansa understood his reticence here out in the open and granted Ramsay a reprieve, "Come," she withdrew from Ramsay's side standing and holding out a hand to him. Ramsay's eyes trailed up her form to her outstretched hand. He took it readily to be guided up to stand beside her. "It's cold out here. Let us return to the privacy of our chambers. I will have a meal sent up for us, and we can speak on these things without the ear of others present," Sansa glanced at the guards giving a slight nod that they were ready to leave as she hooked her arm to entwine her and Ramsay together and without ceremony began leading them away from the Godswood.


	41. Dissolution

Chapter Forty

Dissolution

The foursome was silent save for the emanations of combined footfalls crunching through the freshly fallen snow. Cecil and Temeric were uncharacteristically stiff pacing themselves somewhat awkwardly behind their lady and Ramsay. The men felt intrusive now given the two's shared connection as it cast an insular aura around the couple that had huddled in a tightly interwoven mass of furred cloaks. It wasn't an intended slight, and neither guardsmen took it as such, but they were grateful all the same that the march moved at a hurried clip through the woods and courtyard only slowing when they'd returned to the foyer.

At the onset of their return, both Ramsay and Sansa were lost to the thoughts of the coming conversation. Each were anxious for different reasons pondering their own private ruminations about the other as they walked arm in arm. Sansa evaluating how to proceed and what questions Ramsay would feel comfortable entertaining at this juncture where the latter worried over what would spill out of him like a tumultuous geyser in her presence.

Each step felt muddied in a vortex of time moving too fast towards their destination yet somehow drawn out acutely the closer to the keep they drew. They had made it to the foyer in a blink of an eye, but Ramsay's mind had rapidly spun through a myriad of possible scenarios this coming talk would bring about, and he worked now to prepare himself to handle Sansa's inquiries. Listlessly, Ramsay replaced his cloak his peripheral noting Sansa's openly concerned gaze. His vision shifted away from her uncomfortably reflecting hesitance to proceed further as anxious fingers curled open and closed and his eyes stole furtive glances at Sansa as she hung her own cloak beside his.

Sansa would have dismissed the guards upon reentrance to the castle for Ramsay to feel more at ease, but Jon and she had agreed, over dinner when they'd sent Ramsay away, that it was best for both her and Ramsay's safety that she not leave him unattended outside the dungeon or her personal chambers. It was too soon since the war's end to rightfully anticipate any attacks that could come against her or Ramsay especially proceeding the abrupt and unwelcome visit from House Umber. The North was Stark held once more, but with enemies in King's Landing and rumors of the Targaryens coming back to reclaim the seven kingdoms, it was best to air on the side of caution. If being a member of court in King's Landing had taught Sansa anything, there were vipers slithering in every corner, and as much as she'd like to trust the newly named Stark bannermen, Ramsay's own house had been one prior to the coup that had killed her brother Rob in the most sordid of ways. Trust was a luxury surpassed by those in power, and she would keep those she gave it to few and far between.

The halls were empty save a few servants milling about, and Sansa only stopped their procession long enough to instruct one to have meals prepared and brought up to her room with an accommodating table and chairs. When the quartet arrived at Sansa's quarters, Temeric silently reached over to open the heavy wooden door letting the two enter before abruptly shuffling to the side to give them the privacy they sought. Both men had grown accustomed to their duties and needed no further instruction sidling wordlessly into their perspective posts on either side of the room's entrance and standing at readied attention.

Ramsay strode several paces into the room staring straight ahead as Sansa slid the door closed behind them with a light hitch to lock them away once more in solitude. The moment of silence that followed this simple act left a sinking uneasiness to settle in Ramsay's gut. He didn't turn to face her, but his ears perked and his jaw clenched with a pulsing anticipation as the swish of Sansa's trailing gown swept ever nearer. Ramsay reactively stiffened to the sensation of her breath trailing across the base of his neck. Her body's heat was close enough now to intangibly sense as Sansa hovered like a ghost at his back.

The instant was suspended in time, and Ramsay remained ramrod still awaiting Sansa's next move. She didn't linger long before her delicate arms wrapped around his waist to draw their figures into a firm possessive embrace. Her warmth emanated through his back, and the thrum of Sansa's heartbeat pounded through his chest. Ramsay's senses attuned to the pulse her heart echoed within him and his own heart synchronized to the rhythm to create a biological unity causing his shoulders to slacken and his chest to let go a soft acquiescent sigh. He couldn't help but melt into Sansa's arms having not realized how much just her holding him pacified the throng of apprehension he'd been mentally besieged by.

Her cheek grazed the side of his jaw followed by velvety lips trailing butterfly kisses up to the lobe of his left ear. Each peck continued to delicately draw up to Ramsay's temple in a languid affectionate manner. This experience was unlike the kisses infused with latent hunger he had felt prior. This affection wasn't sexualized, but instead fortified a placidity to course through him that calmed Ramsay to the core. Squeezing him to her chest tightly, Sansa whispered with coaxing reassurance, "It's going to be okay." She didn't explain further; she didn't need to. Ramsay simply nodded. Both knew the other understood this wasn't going to be an easy dialogue to share.

Turning his face to the side, Ramsay acknowledged Sansa with wavering eyes that locked momentarily with hers before his gaze gradually slid back forward with brow knitting in consternation, "What do you want to know?" The words came out evenly, but the mere utterance sped the cadence of Ramsay's heart and flowered a constriction to snake through his torso as real and imagined fears nestled a home into his mind's eye. His hands absently tightened to the arms that held him so closely; her strength had become an anchor to the dread he was suffused with.

Sensing his insecurity, Sansa reactively hugged Ramsay protectively as she replied, "Eventually everything, but I don't expect all to be revealed in one sitting. I wish to know you, Ramsay. I have garnered some aspects of what your life was from my travels, but throughout our time spent in each other's presence, we've never shared a true discourse. I won't assume to understand you without your own record of accounts."

Swallowing nervously at the mention of accounts, Ramsay's frame tensed. Sansa was well-aware of many heinous acts that he'd done, and she hadn't cast him aside yet, so why was it that telling her more felt so damning? It hadn't felt wrong when he'd done them, and in fact, Ramsay had been rather proud of many of the atrocious things he'd wrought. His games had given him a sense of power, he was in control, and Heke had smiled with the utmost approval as the two had bonded over the lamentations of their victims. The shared torture had been an elevation of predator over prey as peasants were akin to cattle, and their irrelevance granted he and Heke amusement.

His further past deeds could possibly sway Sansa's view of him, and Ramsay now felt the weight of his crimes in a whole new light. These things he did were not only unacceptable by the laws of the land but also intolerable to Sansa he knew well. The ruling cast prior to his father taking over as warden of the north had only given Ramsay cause to be cautious for his own survival, but he hadn't actually cared one wit about their judgement of him. The loss of Sansa's opinion though, that meant something to Ramsay, and the possibility of her reviling him over caring for him caused waves of trepidation and a nagging sense of guilt to prickle through him.

Guilt… the irksome reaction to recognize and empathize with another's plight; Ramsay loathed that it had found a way into his subconscious and struggled within him like a trapped animal in a bag clawing to be free. Ramsay had preferred when the trivial suffering of those that were beneath him gave him nothing more than a curious observance to want to poke at them further. He had seen hurting his fellow man like that of a child's indifference to sticking a twig in an ant hole to stir up an aggravated mass just to see what provocation such an action would create. Such curiosities he'd found fascinating and entertaining, but that sort of acquitted joy to his follies had been ripped away by the things that Sansa had done to him.

Ramsay knew from personal experience now what it was to live in fear of what another could do not only physically but emotionally to him. It put into perspective what he had done to others and the level of anguish that he had caused Sansa specifically. She'd made a point to reenact detail after malicious detail of their coupling ensuring the first time she'd raped him (both personally and with a mass of eager deviant sycophants at her disposal) to demonstrate all the vulgarity Ramsay had visited upon her (and then some) the night he'd taken her virginity.

Sansa had become kind to him perhaps she even loved him, but that experience would be forever etched in Ramsay's mind. He understood with clarity the cruelty she was capable of but _chose_ to no longer bestow upon him. It was a reminder of the monster he had been to others. He would have never stopped being that monster had he not been forced to heel. The former Bolton recognized this too, and a part of his soul that had laid dormant for over two decades thanked Sansa for pulling its withered form from the flames of debauchery Ramsay had been so content to burn in.

She had continued her lessons by instilling a recognition of culpability in him the day she'd had Jon make him while away countless hours on a list of punitive acts to mollify those he'd wronged. The article had made Ramsay examine in detail all those that could have a reason to hate him and why. It was a testament to what he'd sown and even more so how little he had to offer in compensation. Having been enlightened in many ways, Ramsay would and could never be that man again. Not that he wanted to slip backward emotionally, but living in that mindset had been so much easier than… this, whatever he'd been transformed into in the three weeks that had marked the end of his tyranny over Winterfell.

Noting how tense Ramsay had become in her grip, Sansa leaned forward to rest her chin on his shoulder. "You're worried. Why?" Her concern didn't wither with her query as she tightened her hold to clasp Ramsay more firmly. This reaction from her only seemed to put Ramsay more on edge as her affection coalesced into further sentiments that he didn't deserve her.

A light tremor worked its way up Ramsay's spine causing the muscles along the track of his vertebrae to involuntarily flex as he responded uneasily, "There's a lot about me that you've probably heard from those that prance about your court. Gruesome tales… and… and likely true ones," Ramsay paused peripherally glancing to take in Sansa's reaction, and when she neither looked his way, let him loose, or gave him any reply, he continued stiltedly, "I've… I've done more still that even whispers from the trees are not privy to release." His head lowered, and his voice weakened, "You wouldn't approve of any of it, and to hear it may have you wish to fetch the hangman's noose."

Inhaling deeply, Sansa removed her head slowly from Ramsay's shoulder letting her arms disengage from around his waist. An immediate fear sparked through Ramsay that his words had condemned him. Her hand wrapped about Ramsay's bicep lightly as she circled about to face him. Once centered in front of him, Sansa grabbed his other bicep securing the intimacy between them as her gaze penetrated Ramsay with very real sincerity. Ramsay's eyes locked onto her stare dilating with uneasiness to the seriousness she exuded upon him.

Sansa spoke plainly, "I said accounts, Ramsay, I was not asking for you to rant off a litany of sins. I know that you've done horrible crimes both in and away from my presence. I won't say that you are forgiven for them. It's not my right or place to do so. The only forgiveness I can grant is for any misconduct you have pressed upon me personally. That said, I've moved into this venture well informed that before I took claim of you as my ward, you'd done unspeakable evils that chilled me to the bone. They still do, but I'm no longer judging you by your past. I've committed to redeem you and help you build a better future. That said, justice needs to be met, and your spared life will be spent working to make up for the pains you've bore upon others."

Her words had Ramsay inwardly cringing as he measured the implication of his place _forever_ by her side as not a lover but a responsibility. He couldn't hold her gaze under such embarrassing scrutiny, and his eyes averted to the floor. Sansa wasn't finished, and for what she spoke on, she wanted his full attention, "Ramsay, I need you to look at me," she was firm, but her words were tinged with a quiet regard that took the edge away from the gravity of her statement. He couldn't refuse her if he'd wanted to; Ramsay's head rose to display emotion-filled irises beseeching sympathy. Sansa supposed that Ramsay expected her to continue in the vein she'd left off pounding into him the reality of their merger. Her composure softened as she continued gently, "The person that stands before me now, that swore an oath of fealty to me, is not the person who committed those vile acts. I'd like to believe I've slayed the beast that salivated for that sort of immorality. Maybe not completely, but enough to bring forward another part of you that is worthy of absolution. Am I wrong to believe this?"

Before she'd finished speaking Ramsay had begun shaking his head vehemently, "No! No, you're not wrong!" When she'd continued her speech to mention his proclaimed fealty to her, Ramsay's hands had moved to link around Sansa's elbows wanting a further connection to her. His heart swelled to her statement; even if she'd not forgiven him now, there was a hope she could grant him a pardon to see past the many dark deeds he'd flagrantly committed that would forever stain his character. Sansa was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he was changing, and that was all Ramsay could aspire for at this juncture in their relationship.

"I want to be a better man for you," Ramsay affirmed earnestly, "I will be; of this I swear!" His adamancy was touching but flawed in direction, and Sansa corrected, "Not for me, Ramsay. You need to be a better man for you." His brow furrowed in obvious confusion, and Sansa went on to explain, "I appreciate a want to improve on my behalf, but you need to instead wish it for yourself. You will be a better man for me in the process." Ramsay affixed her with a dumbfounded expression not understanding what she was getting at. There would come a time he would, Sansa decided leaning in to kiss the small crinkle on his forehead.

His brow immediately relaxed under the ministrations of her tender lips, and when Sansa pulled away, Ramsay's eyes closed, his face slackening with head tilting downward to accept her affections. These were the engagements with Ramsay that Sansa had become drawn to. The passive tendencies she pulled out of him that had been alien at the start of their rapport, but now was a mark of recognition that Ramsay would submit to her and serve her in whatever capacity she willed him to. Her pleasure was his own, and it was undeniably attractive especially given the self-indulging man he'd been prior. Sansa smiled down at him fondly watching on as Ramsay's lashes fluttered and curious blue eyes flashed up to take her in. His mouth parted to reveal a timid flash of teeth seeing her approval of him as her happiness generated a euphoria to cascade over him and brighten his demeanor considerably.

 _It's going to be okay_ , Ramsay heard Sansa's words dancing over him, and for the first time in a long time, he believed it to be so. He didn't just love Sansa, he trusted her, and this wasn't one and the same but something far more precious. As if she could see his revelation, Sansa's smile broadened and her hands squeezed Ramsay's biceps one final time before she released his arms turning from him and moving ten paces over to sit on the bed. Sansa's gaze drifted up to Ramsay's, and her palm patted the space beside her, a silent summons to join her that Ramsay didn't hesitate to obey. He wanted to be near her always. Ramsay lowered himself into the spot her hand had vacated, and once he'd settled, Sansa reached out instinctively to take his hand in hers. It was a simple gesture causing Ramsay to marvel at the way her hand clasping his solidified a tether to bind him further to her.

Their shared connection made the insecurities that ebbed and threatened to consume Ramsay fade momentarily, and in their absence, he spoke, "You have questions you wish to ask," his hand gripped hers more tightly pausing to turn and face her with all seriousness, "I will answer them to the best of my ability. Whatever you wish to know; I will be honest and forthcoming." His jaw tightened as he thought inwardly, _"Even if it is not what she wants to hear, I will tell her and clear the air once and for all."_ She'd shown that she was resourceful enough to find out most anything she wanted to know about him, so he might as well have it come from him personally while she was feeling receptive to take it in. She was a Stark, and if it was one thing Ramsay knew he could count on was that she would not break her word to him and shun him for what he disclosed to her in confidence, or at least he believed keeping her continued faith in him was worth the risk of candor.

Sansa's expression was hard to read with neither a frown nor smile, her eyes darted over the whole of him as if taking Ramsay in fully for the first time. He was opening himself to her inquiries, and although Sansa worked to keep the elation this level of trust Ramsay was granting her from projecting outwardly, inwardly her heart soared with a rising exhilaration born of excitement and trepidation. She hesitated to speak now that she was given the floor as she mentally moved through the many things that she could ask of him. He was willing to entertain her questioning knowing her intentions, and a part of her knew it was best not to waste the opportunity this presented, so she opened with the sorest subject, "I want to pick up where we left off in the Godswood, to speak more on my visit to see your mother. I admit that I went to her with expectations that she would unravel the mystery you presented."

Sansa's brow furrowed as her pretty lips contorted into a frown shaking her head at a loss for what she really wanted to convey. She sighed tiredly staring off as her mind was pulled back to the conversation she and Ramsay's mother had shared, "I honestly don't know what I had wanted her to say really. I just wanted to understand what compelled you to do the things you did to others. It took a matter of moments to realize that there wasn't anything she could muster a plausible justification for. I had assumed your father was to blame for the majority of your callous behavior, but I failed to pick up the clues that you had shown me in your faltering speech when I'd initially asked about her. I know now that she was as much to blame if not more so for shaping your outlook on life."

Focusing her gaze back on Ramsay, Sansa leaned closer encompassing his hand in both of hers as she ventured, "I know she's hard for you to discuss, but do you think you can talk about her and your past with me now?"

Ramsay was grimacing when Sansa had concluded but nodded as his own eyes fell away to find his hand enveloped within both of hers. He needed to see this as well as feel it as a counterbalance to the rising tide of emotions that were flooding through him to bring his mind backward in time. A long moment lurched by where Ramsay said nothing, and Sansa waited patiently willing herself not to urge him on. Ramsay needed to speak as he was comfortable to do so, and finally after several mouth-parting stops and licked lips, Ramsay started, "We didn't get along… she hated me, and my father. We both played our part in ruining her life, to make her so angry, and if she wasn't going on about something I did or any number of misfortunes in her life," Ramsay's tone turned bitter as he expounded, "…then she mourned for a life that had been taken from her when her womb had been cursed by my father's tainted seed."

A snarl split to bared teeth and Ramsay's hand tightened around Sansa's own as he recanted his memories. Sansa could sense he was spiraling quickly into a dark place and interjected sternly, "You were a child, and no mother should blame the ills of the father on a babe in the womb. You didn't ruin her life, Roose did." Ramsay halted looking up at her in stunned silence as her words sunk in. The anger receded from his composure, and Ramsay slackened once more loosening his grip and letting out a deflated sigh as he continued, "Yes… well she wasn't as enlightened as you having always been a smallminded bumkin from the countryside. She couldn't handle me, and at the risk of being flayed alive, she went to father and acquired a manservant."

Ramsay hesitated to continue working out mentally how to approach the conundrum of Heke. He glanced Sansa's way, and her gaze bore into him silently inciting for him to resume. Blinking, Ramsay collected his thoughts and pressed on, "His name was Heke… one of my father's longtime servants; his most redeeming quality, for those that stood downwind of the man, was that he bore a heinous stench. It was so vile that most he came in contact with would reel in disgust." A smile broke Ramsay's lips remembering fondly, "Some even emptied the contents of their stomachs or fell to the ground in a faint for their delicate sensibilities to have been so compromised." Ramsay chuckled his amusement from the conjured images recalled to him while Sansa's lip found itself curling at the thought of withstanding a smell so awful that it would cause such a volatile reaction.

The revulsion on her face only added to Ramsay's delight, and he barked a laugh at her response. Sansa cut him a playful glare, and Ramsay averted his eyes a smirk still played upon his face. He settled back in to renew his tale with a clearing of his throat, "Heke was dull in the head, but he was always loyal." Ramsay's sights grew distant and the mirth left his mien, "He served me like no other." There was a sense of finality in his statement that weighed a somberness to the conversation, and Ramsay shifted as a wave of distress eroded the exchange leaving him silent once more.

The more she learned of this Heke, the more Sansa saw the impact he had on Ramsay. She opened her mouth to draw out more about this man when a soft knock came on the door shifting her attentions as she stood followed simultaneously by Ramsay. Sansa glanced Ramsay's direction voicing, "The servants have brought our meal, I will send them away once they've served us." Without further word, Sansa moved to open the door and allow entrance to her chambers, and Ramsay sighed his relief for the small interlude. He hoped this meal would also have a flagon of wine; he could use a drink right about now.


	42. Erraticism

Chapter Forty-One

Erraticism

The door creaked open, but it was not servants that greeted Sansa; it was Jon. Her brow furrowed in worry at the stony serious gaze that met her, "We need to talk," Jon stated simply. His eyes drifted over to Ramsay, and Ramsay moved to step towards the two stilling his momentum as Jon added, "Alone."

Sansa's head spun back to take in Ramsay's form settling back onto the bed, and her sights lingered on him momentarily as her eyes gave him a silent apology before she turned back to Jon with a curt nod and followed him out. As the door closed, it amplified the severance Ramsay felt to be excluded from their conversation. He hated being offhandedly left waiting in Sansa's chambers for her to return with no more than a nod of dismissal. A pout played across his face, and Ramsay stood finding a need to pace as the emotions from the day collapsed from the sentiments of togetherness and trust he'd been roused by to a remembrance that this relationship was not and never would be an equal exchange. He would always be at the whim of Sansa's desires and duties, a bystander in her life pending for a given direction.

It was a feeling he'd known well with his father, but Sansa was not barring Ramsay from the discussion as a means to keep him in the dark or at arm's length, he had no place within Westrosi politics as a prisoner of war, and even more so, he had no place interfering with family matters concerning Sansa and Jon. These were the rational assessments Ramsay pieced together, yet as he moved like a caged animal back and forth across the expanse of the room, he was still very much consumed by envy.

***…***

Silently Jon led Sansa down the corridor with an assured gait, a man carrying matters of import on a heavy brow. Sansa followed her brother's unwavering march hurrying to keep pace and growing more curious to his beckon of her by every passing moment. What news could Jon wish to depart that would have him so keenly focused to seek her private counsel? Sansa pondered this until she could no longer stand their quiet progression lurching to a sudden stop to exclaim, "What exactly is going on, Jon?"

Her interruption had Jon stiltedly halt his momentum to glance back with a somber expression that twisted Sansa's gut; something was definitely amiss. Her voice trilled, "Is there trouble?"

Straightening with visible discomfort, Jon lifted his chin to regard her worry before responding demurely, "I received a missive from the maester, a summons to Dragonstone."

A flash of confusion passed across Sansa's mien as Jon's declaration sunk in, "Dragnstone? By who's decree?"

There was a pause as Jon's sights shifted past his sister scanning the hallway for any that would hear before stepping closer to remove the gap that separated them. He murmured, "Daenerys Targaryen has crossed the sea and seeks an audience. She wants to make an ally of us to oppose Cersei's claim to the iron throne."

Sansa's eyes darted across Jon's face reactively drawing a step backwards from the enormity of the proposal. She stated with a growing sense of urgency, "You can't go. The North needs you now more than ever!"

The frown that creased Jon's lips deepened as he announced resolutely, "Aye, but so does the realm. I received this invitation days ago," Sansa's brow drew down with a hint of indignation at the knowledge that Jon had withheld this information from her, but she did not interject as he continued, "…and today I was handed a message sent from my brother in arms who resides at the high citadel. He's informed me that Dragonstone houses a mine of one of the only sources of dragonglass known in Westeros. We need dragonglass, and Daenerys Targaryen has an army that could aide us against the coming legions of the dead. There's too much at stake for us to pass on this opportunity."

Sansa was shaking her head in disbelief, "The Targayen's are mad! Have you forgotten so easily what her father did to our grandfather? The risk is too great; send a delegate in your stead. The North can't afford to lose its king!"

"I can't do that. It would be an insult. She is a queen, Sansa. I must be the one to meet her face to face if she is to be in any way amiable to our cause. Please…" Jon took her hands in his as muddy orbs penetrated her with a seriousness that stilled any further protest from leaving her throat. His cadence was firm and imploring, "I am going to announce this news in the great hall. I would have you stand with me in my decision as a united front. You are the only remaining trueborn Stark in Winterfell. I need you to take up the mantle to see the North is tended to until my return. Will you do this?"

Her mouth opened and closed having more to say on the matter, but Jon's mind was set, and so Sansa's visage settled into a grave solemnity as she nodded her acquiescence, "I will."

***…***

The hall clamored with shouts of worry and disgruntlement as Jon relayed his intentions. The siblings shared a look both knowing already that Jon's news was not going to sit well before he'd ever declared it. Waiting for the room to die down again, Jon resumed, "I know that you are afraid for me, but we cannot fight the dead alone. We must form alliances, or we will surely perish. I will not waver on my decision and plan to leave for the shore at dawn's first light. My sister will lead you well in my stead and continue to prepare us for the long winter."

Jon did not stay to answer the lords and ladies that still objected his verdict, and Sansa's voice carried high above the throng as he strode to exit the hall, "My brother is right; we need more men to fight at our side. It is better to distinguish now who our friends and our enemies are. Cersei Lannister holds the South, and regardless of what opinion we hold of the Targaryens, Daenerys is an unknown force who has reached out to us and not her for a union. Jon's proposal is brash, but it is a necessity for our continued survival. You must trust that the peril he faces is to our coming benefit. The North…" Her speech faded to the backdrop as Jon pushed through the yawning doors of the main hall followed by his most trusted bannermen at his heel. A small smile graced his lips and a confidence filled him that no matter the outcome of the meeting he had with the dragon queen, Sansa would fill the role the North needed with or without him leading them.

***…***

It hadn't been long after Sansa departed that the servants arrived with the table and chairs she had requested stilling Ramsay's pacing with the disturbance to the once quiet room. He watched on with a dour scowl as the servants bustled about setting up the furnishings and arranging the food. It wasn't an elaborate fare having been hailed on a moment's notice, but it was still prepared for the lady of the house and had many alluring smells of braised meats and sweet bread. Ramsay's mouth immediately watered at the appetizing contents, and he fought the urge to start picking through the dishes. Sansa would wish for him to wait for her his mind disputed his craving, but as the steam began to evaporate from the now cooling containers, it was apparent that Sansa was not coming back to join him any time soon.

How long was he expected to wait? Would she be angry with him if he just decided to help himself? Ramsay snatched the chair closest to him, and if he'd not been so sore from the night prior's through tanning, his carried-out reaction would have been to slump down in an exasperated huff. Instead, Ramsay's stiffness reminded him of his lingering ailments serving to sour his disposition further. This temperament abated though at the sight of Melody cowering in the far corner. He hadn't even noticed her presence until now; the girl is so mundane she practically fades into the background he mused smirking and puffing out his chest as he settled into his seat.

He rolled his shoulders staring directly at her to a point Melody noticeably squirmed like a fly caught in a spider's web. Her reaction had Ramsay perk with a delighted smile as he called out purposefully, "You there; serving wench!"

Melody jerked to attention swiveling her head left and then right to clarify it was indeed her that Ramsay was referring to. It was, she realized with a sickening dread as she timidly stepped out of the protective shadows she'd sought solace in, "Ya-yes milord?" The words caught in her throat; he wasn't a lord anymore she was well aware, but she couldn't stop referring to him as one even now, and for her to have done so only expanded the cat-like grin the bastard wore.

Amused by her continued deference, Ramsay leaned back in his chair motioning to the empty goblet placed before him, "Aren't you the cup bearer? You see that I am seated, so why is my chalice still empty?"

Worrying her hands in her dress Melody responded bashfully, "I'm… I'm sorry milord, I'll fill it right away." Even as the words left her mouth, she hurried over to the pitcher of water picking it up and scurried over to begin filling Ramsay's cup.

Placing a hand over the lip, Ramsay mocked in a condescending tone as if Melody's action had been poorly thought out, "Did I say I wished for water?" His action caused Melody to back pedal her forward momentum as she shook her head lamely. Ramsay's smile melted, and he stared at her with a cold seriousness that sparked a jolt of fear to course up her spine. He left the uncomfortable silence to hang in the air a long moment before the grin he'd worn previously playfully returned. A barely audible snicker escaped his lips and Ramsay lost eye contact with her seemingly bored by the exchange. Waving her off, Ramsay leisurely settled back in his chair to enjoy his self-imposed lordly status as he stated flatly, "Wine. Fetch me a flagon." Almost as an afterthought, Ramsay quipped with a hint of annoyance, "Be quick about it."

Setting the water pitcher down, Melody briskly made her way out of the lady's chambers to do as she was bid. The room had gone deafly quiet during their exchange, but none that surrounded them questioned Ramsay's entitlement, and this willing acceptance to treat them as beneath him gave Ramsay a small thrill. He'd always enjoyed making others writhe with subtle psychological games that kept them on their toes. Ramsay wasn't foolish enough to put on such airs in front of actual nobility in his current holding for risk of getting put in his place readily, but what could a little bit of fun with the servants here and now hurt? Besides, he had been wanting a bit of wine to ease the tension of the coming continuation of he and Sansa's awkward conversation; getting a bit of a head start would mollify his agitation over having to wait on her and make speaking openly on the subjects Sansa would pry upon a little easier to navigate dulling his senses.

***…***

The meeting in the great hall had taken several hours, and by the time Sansa was exhaustedly making her way back to her quarters, her shoulders sagged with the burden of appeasing many houses. She had sent word back with a servant to tell Ramsay to eat after she and Jon had made it to the hall and settled the lords and ladies before them to hear the dire news Jon wished to depart. That in itself had taken a bit of time to amass and gather the nobles milling about from the many parts of the keep that they were scattered. Once the discussion had begun, and after Jon had left, it seemed that no one was easily satisfied stretching into long hours of debate and discourse. Sansa weathered these talks far better than Jon had, but it was a taxing situation that had demanded much from her.

The deliberations died down when the servants brought fourth bread, fruit, and wine for the guests in the hall. Food always tended to calm a boisterous room, and much of the larger matters had long since been discussed in the first few hours of the afternoon. Jon had left her to it some time ago, and Sansa supposed he'd done so on purpose to prove both to those assembled and each other that she could handle the reigns of Winterfell in his absence.

Jon's faith in her was assuring. There had been quite a number of instances that had left Sansa ruffled by the manner that her position as a trueborn in their house had been downgraded due to her gender and the people's love of her half-brother. She'd swallowed this insult knowing the world they lived in found it difficult to accept a woman monarch, and Jon was a good man who was easily followed. With Ramsay taking up so much of her time and energy, she'd actually welcomed the ability to disengage from the politics of court, but now she was going to have to juggle both. These ruminations populated her mind as she exited the noisy hall and traversed the corridors in welcomed silence.

***…***

The first three cups of wine, Ramsay had downed rather quickly unsure when Sansa was to return again, but once he'd been informed to go ahead and dine without her, Ramsay slowed to nursing his drink as he'd always done when he'd normally partaken. One thing Ramsay was particular about was to never become too inebriated; it wasn't safe to let your guard down living the life that he'd led.

Having full access to enjoy the contents of the table as he deemed fit was refreshing in its own way, but it was also a letdown to be dining alone. This never used to bother Ramsay, but the earlier elation of getting closer to Sansa to then be excluded by her having to leave him behind… again. It had his mind whirring over possible scenarios of them together, and left alone to these ruminations, it didn't bode well for his building insecurities.

Ramsay had finished eating some time ago, and with nothing better to do other than wait, he drank until his senses were so dulled that he found himself slumping drunkenly in his chair with head spinning as the pins and needles of intoxication washed over his limbs and his fingers letting the empty chalice he held dangling over the side of his chair loose to clang onto the stone floor. His eyes stared at the cup dazedly as it gently rolled to disappear beneath the table. He'd drank that first bit of wine entirely too fast, Ramsay realized belatedly as his half-lidded gaze drifted about the room trying to discern what he'd been thinking on last.

It was a fruitless endeavor as his mind had become far too muddled by this point to coherently pinpoint any actual string of thoughts over the momentary flash of whatever happened across his purview. Throughout this drinking endeavor he'd bullied Melody to refill his cup, serve him his food, take away his dirty plates, and whatever else he could send her to task doing just to watch her service him.

Ramsay's orders filtered to Sansa's ears as she pushed open the heavy oaken door to her room causing her to balk in surprise as his words sank in and registered, "No, not like that. I wish for you to crawl on the ground on hands and knees for it, like the dog you are."

Fury erupted through her as Sansa exclaimed in disgust, "Ramsay!"

Hearing his name yelled like a curse by Sansa had Ramsay jolt to standing teetering as the blood flow rushed to his head leaving Ramsay to feel the full effects of the wine spill over him. Ramsay stammered in bewilderment, "Sa-Sansa! You… you're back!" He wanted to force a cordial smile and bow at her return, but his lip only twitched upward nervously as she bounded towards him.

Electricity radiated off of her person, and if she could discharge it at him, Ramsay imagined that it would strike him dead by the glare she affixed him with now. Sansa typically maintained a very regal composure even when she'd been upset in the Godswood she'd not exuded this level of rage. He'd only ever seen her this angry once, the time she'd taken the hairbrush to him. In part, this memory served to make Ramsay stiffen and wince as she bounded forward snatching him by the bicep to physically drag him in one pull around his chair to stand directly in front of her. Her eyes blazed as she clipped a reply, "I'm back just in time it would seem. What is the meaning of this? Why were you insulting this servant so?"

Ramsay's eyes had grown wide and his face was slack in the wake of her aggressive interrogation. The drink had blunted his wit too much to lie cleverly, so Ramsay blurted the first thing that sounded like plausible justification, "She… she's had it coming for weeks! This wench has done nothing but taunt me since the day she's been given leave to get away with it!"

Sansa's brow furrowed as her sights shifted to Melody who still lay huddled on the ground under the table peering up at her panic stricken by the sudden turn of events. "Does he speak true?" Sansa demanded firmly.

Melody on the brink of tears rattled her head, "No! No milady! I would never!"

Ramsay barked antagonistically down at her pouring out his festering hatred the girl riled in him, "Do not lie to your lady! Confess to her how you spitefully smirked at me to get a reaction the night after I'd been belabored! Tell her…" Sansa shook Ramsay's arm violently enough to dislodge his speech, and when he immediately brought his shocked expression back to take her in, she scolded him, "Enough. You will still your tongue until I give you permission to speak again."

His mien shifted from astonishment to clear offense, but he didn't fail to comply as he pursed his lips tightly and his gaze shifted away from her piercing narrowed slits. The warm fuzzy buzz that had settled over him before had vacated his system as the fear that he should have been feeling when Sansa stormed over to him began to replace the once stupefied mental awareness he'd suffered from when she had first entered the chamber. He was becoming fully aware of just how bad this situation had gotten for him.

Sansa regarded the side profile of Ramsay's face studying him carefully, his jaw was set clenching in exasperated frustration. He was clearly nettled by the scullery maid; Sansa's vision drifted back to the shuddering girl on the floor. The girl didn't regale the visage of a meanspirited person that took joy in the suffering of others, but nor could Sansa discount that she very well could be a good actor playing a role for her benefit. This girl could have a disposition much like that of Myranda; Sansa hadn't known the extent of the cruelty that laid in the heart of Ramsay's past lover, but the moment she'd had any time in close proximity with the woman, Sansa had felt her animosity. The quaking figure before her, Sansa didn't get any such inclination from, and she found it hard to believe that Ramsay could feel threatened by her at all.

Nodding at Melody, Sansa instructed, "Please rise from off the floor." her gaze reverted back to the calm serious stare she'd perfected watching on expressionlessly as the girl shakily propped herself up to stand. The goblet Ramsay had demanded her to retrieve was clutched below her sternum coiled into her belly as a lifeline to transfer the intense anxieties this night had evoked. Sansa took her stance and the item she held in curiously recalling the command that Ramsay had bellowed at the maid as she'd entered the chamber. She held out her hand for the cup, and Melody timidly passed the article into her possession.

Rolling it in her hands, Sansa's brow creased; for the first time since she'd entered the room, the wafting aroma of wine assaulted her senses. It was becoming clearer what had transpired here. She queried casually almost as if she were stating to herself rather than Ramsay, "Wine. You were drinking. I hadn't asked for spirits to be delivered."

Ramsay shifted in growing apprehension; his eyes darting up to take Sansa in from his peripheral, and when he saw that she was staring directly at him, Ramsay cleared his throat stating defensively, "Well… I didn't think it was a problem to ask for a bit of wine with dinner." Opening his mouth to expound upon his statement, Sansa quipped sharply cutting him off, "Clearly, it was a problem." Ramsay's mouth closed visibly swallowing hard at the admonishing tone dropping his head in submission.

This was not what she wished to come back to after a grueling afternoon and evening discussing politics in the hall. "I'm displeased with your behavior, Ramsay," Sansa sighed tiredly letting her statement hang in the air as she quickly pivoted to take in Melody's posture to see if the girl gave any tells to if the accusations Ramsay had lobbed at her seemed at all credible. Melody looked just as petrified as she had been when Sansa had first laid eyes on her crumpled cringing form. To observe her now, Sansa doubted this slip of a girl had a mean bone in her body.

If what Ramsay alleged was true, he still was in the wrong for the manner in which Sansa had seen him treating her, and if he was lying, well that was a whole other matter to deal with. She would need to investigate further before she could sentence the severity of the punishment she would give Ramsay for this transgression. Either way, it could be sorted tomorrow Sansa decided, "It's late. Ramsay undress and climb into bed, and you…" Sansa paused looking over at Melody expectantly before Melody caught on that Sansa was waiting for her to announce herself, "Ma-Melody mistress!" She nervously curtsied three times in succession pleating the folds of her skirts and apron in an attempt to mimic what she knew of how to address a noble respectfully.

"Melody," Sansa stated formally, "I will wish for you to return tomorrow morning after the sun has risen and we've had our morning meal. We will discuss this matter between the three of us to get to the bottom of it." Swiveling to address the rest of the servants Sansa directed, "Please see to removing the dinnerware, once you have, you are all excused from duty." Glancing back over at Ramsay, Sansa stalled her movement turning back to announce as an afterthought, "For future reference, Ramsay is to have no wine without my or Jon's direct supervision."

Ramsay cringed tightening his fists at her declaration; he'd not moved from where he'd been standing, but this added humility was salt to the wounds this encounter had already inflicted and sent him to storm off in retreat towards the bed.

Sansa watched him recoil from her side and sulkily slump onto the bed to begin the task of kicking off his shoes although he paused in disrobing to glance back up to Sansa in silent question if she meant for him to divest his clothing here and now, in front of the servants. She didn't give him an answer rotating her back to him leaving Ramsay to figure it out on his own what he needed to do while she monitored the servants making quick work of dismantling the many items that had been placed on the table. Having her observe their work after the tension that had permeated the chamber had all her retainers dashing out with the assembled dishware in a quiet eagerness to comply with their lady's wishes and depart the premises.

Once the two were alone again, Sansa spun back around to see Ramsay had stripped down to all but his leggings, and when she'd about faced his direction, Ramsay was quick to hop to his feet dropping his trousers with a sense of urgency to obey. He faltered, "I… I didn't want to…," Sansa was striding towards him purposefully as he spoke, and she cupped his chin in her hand lifting his face to take in his wavering eyes. His ice blue orbs studied her unsure of what she planned to do to him but definitively worried that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be pleasant.

Softly, Sansa interjected before Ramsay could stammer on, "It's alright. I understand, and I'm not upset that you waited to follow-through with this particular decree for modesty sake although that may not always be the case. I trust you will know the difference and adhere to my wishes when called upon to do so."

Ramsay opened his mouth to plead his case, and as if sensing his intention, Sansa added, "I do not wish to speak further on this incident. I've had quite enough debate for one evening. Please, just come to bed with me. There will be plenty of time to continue this matter after we've both had some much-needed rest."

Rest meant a clearer head; Ramsay nodded his chin in her hand eagerly, and Sansa smiled grateful that he was quick to acquiesce to her proclamation over trying to represent his argument further. She let her hand slip from Ramsay's face taking the three steps it took to reach the bed to pull the duvet down and expose the inviting inner sanctum of the goose down feathered mattress. Wordlessly, Ramsay followed the gesture climbing into the opening she held aloft and settling to lay on the bed. His brow was furrowed in curiosity as he stared up at her. Sansa perplexed him to a degree that Ramsay was always left guessing and unsure how to react to her. As of now, she wished to be kind and gentle with him, and Ramsay was keen to absorb this side of her when Sansa offered it.

She folded the comforter down and over his shoulders before beginning the laborious task of disrobing herself. All the while, Ramsay surveyed her motions as if they were a novelty, and when she was also naked, his body reacted to the sight of her. Sansa noted the bulge elevating the blankets where his crotch centered, but she did not react in any perceptible way to seeing it as she sidled around the bed to climb in next to Ramsay. She laid on her side facing him, and Ramsay swiveled his head to regard her. His expression had been hopeful that she would extend further attentions upon him in an effort to assuage the cropping guilt he was feeling as a means to let him know they were okay, but when it became apparent that she was not reaching for him in any manner, his countenance shifted to worry. He wanted to ask her if she were angry with him, but he knew that in some way that she was and didn't wish to hear her say as much, so instead, the two continued to endure staring wordlessly at one another.

Anger was not what Sansa was feeling at the moment, and although what she'd happened upon when she'd entered her chamber had indeed infuriated her, it also awakened her to the fact that even though Ramsay wasn't exuding those personality traits that she loathed in her presence, it was clear now that those mannerisms still resided within him. It once more cropped a worrisome niggling that she was treading dangerous ground, and that the man that stared longingly at her now could still be very cruel if given the opportunity. He was a work in progress, and she had to remember that there would be many failures on his part and hers along the way. She had to believe in herself that she could temper his behavior just as Jon believed that she could manage Winterfell.

Ramsay's eyes had not left her face, and his gaze became more vexed the longer the silence between them stretched on. His distress finally overrode her inner contemplations, and Sansa whispered gently to him, "Come to me, Ramsay." Her words spiked an immediate thrill to comply, and Ramsay slid over to her side gratefully. As he did so, Sansa rolled his figure onto his side pulling his back into her chest to spoon his form. Nuzzling his head under her chin, she heard Ramsay sigh his contentment as his body slackened in her grip. He'd been restlessly awaiting some form of engagement from her Sansa realized as she dipped to kiss the top of his head tenderly. He needed her so much, and this need sent a warm flush to crash through her being as she squeezed him tightly to her. She needed him too.


	43. Until the Morrow

Chapter Forty-Two

Until the Morrow

Sleep found Sansa readily once she had felt a level of peace had been reached between her and Ramsay. She was exhausted from the numerous activities and encounters she'd partaken in that had stretched for days on end as the weight hadn't subsided when the Umbers departed, and she was safely home. The tension had only continued to mount with Jon announcing he was embarking on a worrisome venture that he may or may not return from, the fate of Winterfell being left in her hands, and this new dilemma with Ramsay and the help… all of it left much to think on, but the culmination of all these trials had drained the last vestiges of Sansa's energy. Given the opportunity to fade from her unremitting concerns while embracing Ramsay was all the excuse her weary mind had needed to slide into slumber.

While she slept, Ramsay lay inert in Sansa's arms listening to the deep intakes of her heavy inhalation above his head as he ruminated on the day's events. It was hard to find sleep even though being nestled into Sansa, as he was currently, was exactly where he wanted to be. The momentary awkwardness that had loomed between them prior to Sansa calling him to her was a point that now troubled Ramsay acutely. It was a break in the consideration she'd been showing him as of late, and although Sansa had not disregarded him, Ramsay's internal anxieties pushed his thoughts towards a fear of abandonment by her if he severely displeased her.

His sentiments on the subject of rejection roiled like a tumultuous current warring that he needed to do one of two things: tip his attitude towards indifference as a means of emotional preservation or decide to commit himself to further obeisance to avoid further troubles with her. To do the latter stung his pride greatly, but indifference was a last resort. Ramsay recognized that to go down that road would truly mean he'd given up hope that there could be something between he and Sansa, and a future devoid of Sansa's fondness was something Ramsay wasn't willing to contemplate further. Ramsay's mind switched gears mentally rolling back through the events that had ended the night so poorly. His stomach lurched considering that his misconduct hadn't been fully addressed yet; whatever would come from it wasn't going to play out in his favor.

Sleep eventually found Ramsay as the remnants of the wine in his system helped to lull him into a drowse and finally into a dreamless oblivion. Sensitive to Sansa's arms draped about him, when she'd shifted onto her back in the wee hours of the morning, Ramsay sensed her movement and had turned to curl into her snaking his own arm to possessively encircle her waist. He laid his head in the crook of her arm staring wide awake at the haze of dusk peeking through the corners of the drapery. He'd have preferred to slip back into the blissful calm he'd risen from, but it was too late for that now. The worry of what the morning would bring was enough to kill his ability to doze further, and instead his mind began to race to the tune of the disquiet he'd agonized over the evening before.

He and Sansa would talk about last night with that wretch of a girl, and when the details came out (as undeniably Sansa would ferret out the truth quickly) Ramsay already knew that he would be found wanting in her eyes. He'd grasped how much what he'd been doing to the scullery maid Sansa would disapprove of, but at the time, he'd let the wine dictate his truest feelings towards the girl as he'd been accustomed to showing prior to having a keeper that would hold him accountable for his spitefulness. It was a grave error of judgement on his part, and he understood this too well now as every time that Sansa stirred, Ramsay found his chest tighten in trepidation to the assumption that she was waking which would undoubtedly spiral him nearer to a day full of unpleasantness.

Hours crawled this way until Ramsay's angst had dampened into a tired numbness by the time that Sansa's lashes fluttered to take him in. The dark circles his visage projected were not lost on her, and Sansa knew without asking that Ramsay had not slept well. Reaching out tenderly, she pushed errant strands of his hair back behind his ear, a quiet attempt to sooth Ramsay's nerves even though on some level Sansa was glad that the situation weighed on him heavily enough to take the matter seriously. It was promising to know that he was reflecting on what had happened; it showed Ramsay cared that he'd upset her enough to have worried away part of his night over what he'd done. Whether his concern was for the right reasons of how not to treat others or over fear of a punishment to come, Sansa didn't know. Either way, if Ramsay was reticent to behave so shamefully again, regardless of the motivation behind his reservations to do so, Sansa decided that it was for his betterment.

Ramsay's eyes closed to the feel of Sansa's delicate fingertips, and he inhaled sorrowfully trying to find solace in the gentle strokes meant to calm him. The contact helped to ease his troubled mind, but not enough to forego his anxiety entirely. His own lashes flickered open taking Sansa in with wide eyes that wavered over her face; the apology he'd been wanting to deliver in the silence of the room, while he'd awaited her rousing, was finally able to flee his sputtering lips, "About last night… I'm… I'm sorry. I know what you saw was rather condemning to witness." Ramsay wanted to continue his proclamation further to plead his case before the third party was brought into the mix and while the two of them were still alone. This intimacy allowed Ramsay to degrade himself with apologies he didn't truly mean or wish to depart on the urchin maid that vexed him but, the act of telling Sansa he was in the wrong regarding the servant girl grated at the very fiber of his being so much that it stalled his request for forgiveness truncating what could have been a proper admission of guilt into the blunted statement he'd delivered.

Blinking at Ramsay's disclosure, Sansa gave a small nod displaying a cold demeanor even though her hand rested lovingly to cup his ear and cheek, "That's good to hear that you are; you need to be. As for what I witnessed… yes, it was rather condemning," she finished flatly, and Ramsay grasped immediately from her harshening tone that a failure to show suitable contrition had cost him any sort of leeway he may have gained prior to including the waif in the coming discussion. If anything, his lack of response had damned him where not saying anything at all may have been a better tactic.

Her hand slipped away from him, and the vacating warmth sent a shiver down Ramsay's spine. Sansa rolled to sit up and leave the covers, and Ramsay found himself rising on his haunches as she did so with an abrupt need to mimic her movement even though she'd not called him to follow her from the bed. Sansa made her way over to the armoire with Ramsay at her heel, and other than handing him a new outfit, the two reacted independently, wordlessly dressing beside the other. Ramsay was keen to track Sansa's mood studying her intently to try and gain a bead on where her mind was relating to him, but she seemed in a world of her own staring off thoughtfully. He was relieved she wasn't projecting any sort of displeasure his way, and in fact she paid him no heed at all, her expression was enigmatic leaving any tells of what exactly she may be pondering an irritating mystery to Ramsay.

Venturing to break the still in the room, Ramsay asked, "You left the table and chairs… will we be breaking our fast here together this morning, or have you other plans for us?"

Sansa's gaze drifted to lock eyes with Ramsay before replying offhandedly as she turned to the mirror to continue adjusting the dress she'd donned, "We will be dinning here, but that won't be right away. You will remain until I return."

The silence ticked a beat between them as Ramsay digested her statement doing his best to retract the immediate frustration he felt in a grievous attempt to remain calm and collected. Still, his voice strained tightly as he petitioned, "Lady Sansa… you're leaving me behind… may I ask why?"

Sansa stopped tightening her corset to her waist to stare at Ramsay's reflection in the mirror with an expression that was not angry, but it held a terseness that annunciated that she had a clear objective in mind that she would not dally from to mince words with him. The reply she afforded him was a simple curt, "No."

Ramsay's brow furrowed worriedly as she resumed lacing her top with a sharp pull to cinch the corset to her midriff quickly slipping on the shoes nearest her. Her eyes never left him as she performed these tasks, and Ramsay watched on dumbfoundedly unsure how best to counteract the haste in which Sansa was readying herself. Before he had a chance to respond, Sansa added, "If you do not know why, Ramsay, take my leave as time to ponder on it. Perhaps once I return, you can expound upon your question with an answer for me." Striding towards the chamber's door, Sansa's voice carried caustically overhead, "In fact, I will expect an answer from you when I return."

Ramsay remained stunned behind her as his heartrate accelerated with a newfound urgency to react to her departing form, but Sansa's declaration was enough to silence his want to say more without a bit more preparation. He recognized now was not the time to challenge her in any way. Instead, Ramsay's jaw clenched, and his back straightened rigidly watching her retreat from the room as the heavy thud of the oaken door sealed him away from the rest of the keep, and he was left once more to his own devices.

The brisk pace to which Sansa had flung the door open had startled Cecil, and both men's eyes widened in slight surprise as Sansa stepped past them with only a slight nod of acknowledgement to continue her march down the hall. The night guards had been replaced by Cecil and Temeric at the break of dawn, and neither had been informed that there had been any sort of altercation the night before. The two sentries gave one another a puzzled look before Temeric called out, "My lady?" When Sansa halted to turn back, Temeric bowed in deference, "Did you wish us to carry on our normal routine with Ramsay in your absence?"

This question gave Sansa pause as her lip pursed, and she contemplated once more on how much Ramsay had changed in her absence from the keep. Whatever Jon or these guards had been doing with Ramsay may not be what she wished done with him going forward, but she couldn't know without first being privy to what this routine they spoke on was. She didn't have the time or the patience at this juncture to review it, so Sansa stated frankly, "Ramsay is to stay in my quarters until I return. No one other than yourselves are to enter without my explicit consent. He has much to consider, so unless there is a true need for you to interact with him, I would prefer you leave him be." Sansa, deeming that she didn't owe them any further explanation, spun back on her heel and continued bounding down the corridor leaving Cecil and Temeric bewildered in the wake of her exodus.

***…***

Much as she wished to follow up on the events that vexed her with Ramsay, there was more pressing matters that drew Sansa's attention. She moved deftly through the castle weaving past the milling soldiers and busied peasants, snatching her cloak from the vestibule's wall, and bounding outside with a fretful burst. Sansa feared that she would be greeted with a vacant courtyard save those that had taken up residence outside the stronghold.

Coming to an abrupt stop, her worries were laid to rest; Jon had not departed although the men that were commissioned to brave the journey with him were already mounting their steeds in preparation to leave. Sansa sighed her relief hurriedly moving up to embrace Jon when he'd turned around to face her, "I was afraid I may have missed you."

As Sansa pulled back from him, Jon smiled with a weary upturn of his lips, "I would have waited a while longer." Of course, he would have; Sansa already knew deep down that Jon would not have left, without a dire necessity to, before she'd seen him off. His presence pacified her to have him near and sent her into upheaval of twisted dichotomy to see him go. Sensing Sansa's turmoil, Jon laid a hand on her shoulder steadying her eyes to his as he assured her, "I will return as soon as I can. Try not to vex yourself; you will do fine." Sansa merely nodded as Jon gave her shoulder a soft squeeze of encouragement before shifting to mount his horse.

The wind whipped flurries of snow to sting her cheeks, but Sansa remained clutching her cloak tightly to her form and watching on as Jon and his procession galloped towards the sea and their unknown destiny. It wasn't until their figures began to wash out in a haze of the falling snow did Sansa finally withdraw back into the sanctuary of the keep.

Hanging her cloak in the foyer, Sansa's mind reallocated to what tasks she planned to attend to next, but it was increasingly hard to focus. She knew where she should have gone, but she found herself in her needlework tower sequestered away to her thoughts in need of space and time to think. Ramsay could wait. It was best that she approached what would come next with a level head.

***…***

Melody scampered back to the kitchens to finish her duties with haste after leaving Sansa's chamber having wanted nothing more than to abscond from the awful episode she'd just endured. The other maids, that she shared a room with, had not returned from their own obligations when she'd arrived, so Melody was free to collapse upon her bed and let loose the torrent of terror and grief the past hours had welled within her. She heaved long pulls of air gripping her tattered pillow (remnants of her mother that Melody had hidden away from being burned upon her untimely passing.) Her distress escaped her person in a mournful wail muffled by the pillow as best she could as heavy tears rolled an unerring stream down the contours of her sharp chin.

'I must have done something wrong to have the gods forsake me this way!' Melody thought pitiably. Normally she was not prone to opinions of self-depreciation, but the past few weeks leading up to tonight had culminated to an inordinate amount of stress for most of those that served the bastion as responsibilities and leadership shifted leaving a massive disruption to the order that had reigned for some months and even more so for Melody as she was shuffled about to these newly assigned undertakings far against her want to do them.

The sobs were allowed to overwhelm her for several long minutes before Melody pulled herself together enough to crawl under her sheets and curl into a fetal ball. She was thankful to be alone in the dark engulfed in the sanctuary the peace of being by herself granted. Unlike most, Melody preferred to be isolated away to contemplate the world, often while she finished her daily chores, finding her mind drifted to fanciful imaginings of tales she'd listened to her father tell her and her siblings around the fire. These mental distractions kept her sane; the days when she'd skipped about, carefree through the tall summer grasses catching fireflies as the sun set, seemed a lifetime ago to this dreary reality that the past year had heaped upon her.

Fear was a feeling that Melody was well accustomed to, and she'd learned to override most of her skittish tendencies when dealing with her new obligations to the Starks, but tonight had left her shaken to the core. Would the lady of the house believe her? Melody ruminated on packing her small cache of belongings and fleeing into the night, but she was neither that stupid or brave to face so many dangerous unknowns. Much like Ramsay, Melody found it difficult to find sleep contemplating the horrifying prospect that if her mistress found her to be intolerable come the morning, she could be turned out into cold of winter to likely die a miserable fate. These musings caused an ebb of panic to rise and fall through Melody until her trepidation on the matter wore her down and she finally found rest.

Morning came with a bleary-eyed exhaustion for her, but a servant's life often left one feeling broken down and weary, so Melody rose to complete her daily tasks mutely moving about with a sluggish lurch. No one seemed to notice her lackluster performance, and if they did, there was no mention of it. It wasn't long before the castle was bustling with activity, and Melody was more than thankful to be distracted by the harried requests to fetch water for the maester, bring slop to injured soldiers, and change out the linens in many of the guest rooms that visiting dignitary temporarily resided in.

Melody had become so busy that the ugly business of last night had fled her thoughts until June, the head stewardess, held up a hand to halt her from disappearing down the hall with another set of bed sheets, "Let those alone;" she motioned for Melody to put down the bundle of bedding, "Mildred will take up your duties now. You, my dear, have been personally requested to attend Lady Stark." One eyebrow had arched in a quizzical fashion as June continued, "Apparently she's garnered quite a bit of interest in you because she questioned me thoroughly on what you tend to get up to." As June relayed this to her, Melody blanched her face growing ashen with a dread that poured through her and settled like a lump of steel in the pit of her stomach.

Evidently this wasn't the response that June had expected, and her brow furrowed further to show a hint of displeasure, "You haven't been pilfering or lazing about have you, girl?"

Blinking in surprise and slightly insulted by the accusation, Melody stammered, "Na-no! Of course not, madam!"

June's lips pursed as she continued to levy a hard stare down on her subordinate long enough to make Melody begin to fidget before cutting her eyes away motioning for Melody to follow her, "Well, I suppose if'n the Lady Stark has quarrel with your services, I'll know soon enough. Now then, come along." June didn't hesitate spinning away to storm down the corridor with Melody in tow struggling to keep up with the matron's swift gait. The two maneuvered through the keep to the East wing which grew quieter the further they traversed down the hallway.

There were guards posted here and there, but otherwise this area of the castle didn't see hardly any of the traffic that Melody was used to. Her eyes spanned about in awe taking in the newness, and so distracted by where she was and whom had summoned her, Melody almost slammed into the back of June when the older woman had stopped suddenly at a spiraling staircase. Her withered hands plucked a torch from the wall passing it over to Melody whose mouth hung agape mutely taking the light source from her superior. June waved upwards, "Go on then; don't leave the mistress waiting!"

Not wanting to dawdle, Melody scampered quickly to do as she was bid, and the flame's brightness illuminated her shadow to dance across the winding steps as she made her way to the top. Pinpricks of sweat dotted Melody's forehead from both the exertion of hurrying up a flight of stairs and the fear that had become an overwhelming inferno within her knowing the confrontation from last night was about to come to a head here and now. For a moment, her head spun, and the feeling of nausea escalated to a point that Melody thought she may just faint, but after a small pause, she regained her composure and began moving towards the entrance of the only room to the tower she'd climbed.

Sansa's eyes peered up to see Melody's shuddering form in her doorframe. She took her measure once more having had a couple hours to ruminate and rest enough to feel her judgment would not be impaired by her earlier weariness; she still saw the same girl she'd taken in the night prior, terrified and not in the least bit intimidating. Her hand gestured to the rocking chair beside her, "Please, place your torch in the scone on the wall, and come join me."


	44. Greater Understanding

Chapter Forty-Three

Greater Understanding

The soft tweets of sparrows had drawn Ramsay to throw open the curtains and let in the sun's rays. He'd stood there observing nothing in particular, but the openness had helped him to feel a little less contained as his thoughts drifted over Sansa's last words to him. Ramsay pondered, and as he did so the sky changed from the pale blues that greeted him to a bright backdrop of white as the sun rose high overhead. Morning had long since passed, and Ramsay finally grew weary of the sight before him turning away from the window to be encompassed by the still in the room. Being trapped in Sansa's chamber was beginning to send Ramsay into internal fits of exasperation wondering not only how much longer he'd be left to wait for the coming dispute with the servant girl but how at a loss he was on what he would present to Sansa as a worthy explanation to her given grievance. She'd demanded he give her an answer as to why she'd left him behind, and that was a conundrum that had a myriad of responses (none of which Ramsay wanted to acknowledge or admit.) It wasn't just that saying aloud her reasoning to leave him behind was justifiable due to his previous behavior was grating, but to disclose such a fault, especially in front of the lowly servant wench, was a humiliation that spurned Ramsay to no end.

The more he thought on apologizing to Melody, the more infuriated the thought of doing so made him. Why would he owe that peasant any sort of excuse for the way he'd treated her anyway? Ramsay fumed inwardly chaffing further as his introspections on why he shouldn't be feeling any form of contrition continued to poison his mood. She was a nobody, a commoner meant to serve in whatever capacity nobility saw fit! Surely Sansa must know to hold her up on a pedestal as if she were worthy of consideration only gave room for later unruliness and defiance towards the ruling house? These sorts of dilemmas were never an issue in the Bolton stead as the servants all well knew their place. Neither was having a bit of sport at their expense unheard of; Roose never denied Ramsay these amusements although he had occasionally scoffed and chided him for creating an aura of uneasiness in the staff. These admonishments Ramsay had mentally pushed from his mind easily, and he'd merrily continued his maltreatment of the staff without issue having never truly seen a real problem with otherwise harmless harassment. It kept the retainers rather adamant to complete their duties swiftly and accurately throughout their tenor. There were always exceptions where Ramsay had gleefully gone that extra mile to insure compliance as a matter of making good on the stern reputation that House Bolton represented. It was remarkable how word getting about of a flayed finger here or a screw in the foot there kept the underlings quite devoted to the house they served.

This whole affair niggled at Ramsay; as far as he was concerned, he hadn't really done anything wrong. Never once did he lay a finger on the girl or threaten her with harm. All he had done was verbally motivate the maid to be ever diligent in the tasks she was already meant to perform; ones that she was attending to rather poorly! These deliberations although satisfying to Ramsay as a given rationalization for his exploitation of Melody, he was more than keenly aware Sansa wouldn't have the same level of indifference his father had shown given the matter, and so he was left to contemplate what exactly he could say that would appease her. This circumventing thought pattern kept leading Ramsay in circles where his known world and his previous past would clash to fragment and thwart his ability to consider an amiable solution without immeasurable strain. The pressure knowing that Sansa would show up at any time now only added to Ramsay's annoyance and frustration. Once Sansa did finally arrive, the irritation fled from Ramsay's countenance replaced by an awkward shift of his frame and a visible start having been knocked from his own personal reveries to the present moment as he spun to face the opening yawn of the heavy door.

***…***

"Are you familiar with needlepoint?" Melody blinked at the awkward question Sansa asked pausing in her task to place the torch in her hand to the mounted scone on the wall. She nodded her head eagerly, "Yes, milady. I am fluent in threadwork for mending and quilt making, but nothing fanciful as the embroidery I've seen mark the dresses you've made."

Sansa couldn't help a small lift of her lips given the maid's flattery of her stitching, "I see. There is yarn in my basket and spare needles that you may take up," Sansa didn't expound more watching Melody expectantly as the girl resumed her first given order and meekly moved to the basket that sat beside her rocking chair. Tentatively, Melody reached into the wicker bin and pulled out the supplies she'd been requested to obtain and looked to Sansa for further direction. Sansa gave a slight nod to the rocking chair that sat beside her own, and Melody shuffled over to inelegantly droop into the chair she'd been pointed to. Sheepishly Melody glanced over at Sansa as she began looping yarn around her own needle in preparation to start a new quilt. Sansa studied her having decided that the girl's nerves made it hard to carry on any form of conversation during their last encounter and hoped that by busying herself in this way that dialogue would flow more easily. Sansa had personally always found speaking to the other women in her knitting circle to be leisurely compared to much of the other discourse she'd had to endure in her life, and she supposed this was another reason she enjoyed sewing as much as she did.

There was a labored silence that carried between the two women as Melody fumbled nervously with her instruments finally relaxing once she had noted that Sansa was paying her no mind having moved back to begin work again on her own endeavor (which ironically was removing the Bolton sigil from one of Ramsay's lapels; one of the many articles of clothing that she'd had the servants bring up the day before for just this purpose.) She knew it shouldn't please her, but a petty side of Sansa relished ripping the threads that held the upside-down man on the X-cross off to see the tattered felt flutter to the floor knowing it would be swept up and thrown into the fire later. It was satisfying as a mark of claiming Ramsay to remove the taint of his house from his apparel. She would sew the Stark wolf on his clothes at a later date, but for now the amputation of the branding of his father's crest from her presence would suffice.

The two continued in this vein until Sansa had finished the jacket she was working on setting it in the basket beside her to be returned to her armoire and reaching over to the pile of Ramsay's outfits that she'd yet to get to. Melody watched her curiously as Sansa folded the cloak she'd plucked from the mound to rest across her thighs. The Bolton sigil lay prominent for a moment before getting flipped over to reveal the stitching that held the embroidery woven into the cloth, and Sansa went to work once more cutting away the fine threads to dismantle the insignia, "Such an ugly motif," Sansa stated with a hint of disgust, "I've felt as much since the day I saw their banner although I came to loathe it the night I was proselytized to be married under it."

Melody's eyes widened in surprise to the bold statement shared having not expected words of derision towards the house of the man Sansa now held in her bed chambers. Too afraid to comment, Melody only lowered her eyes back to continue knitting, and Sansa let the hush in the room reign for several more minutes before she began again, "He really doesn't like you. I don't care whether he does or not, but I'm intrigued to know why. Care to enlighten me?"

It was Melody's turn to pause and gawk at her mistress as she racked her brain on how best to respond having no clear idea as to why the former lord and now prisoner of house Stark had taken such a personal dislike to her. She shook her head feebly, "I'm sorry, milady… I… I don't rightly know what I've done to make him hate me so. He never noticed me until I was sent to attend him by lord Stark two weeks hence. Ever since, when he lays eyes on me, my skin crawls to feel the heat of his glare." Melody's lip trembled feeling on the verge of tears due to the intensity of the situation compounded with the looming exhaustion she felt.

Sansa's gaze settled on Melody as she tried to answer her lady informatively; this girl wasn't sowing a malicious plot to see Ramsay punished, but from Ramsay's reactions, he saw something in her that he truly believed was spiteful, and Sansa was even more inquisitive to know what about this girl could pitch such a fever in him. It was then that she decided exactly how best to punish him and perhaps in doing so to pick this girl that wallowed in her own fright up to see Ramsay wasn't a man to fear anymore, "What he did to you, I do not and will not abide. I can promise it won't happen again as he'll not be left unattended in your presence or any other save myself or Jon without proper handling. He's my ward, and I do take responsibility for his actions. I can't say I can deduce the exact reasoning why he's taken to harrying you in particular, but I think it amounts to the fact that deep down, Ramsay is afraid, and when he sees fear in others, he detests the mirror of it in himself choosing to use what little power he has to bully those whom will cow to him to make himself feel as if he has some power over them." Melody remained quiet, and after a tick, Sansa continued, "It's a behavior that I find detestable, but I've come to realize Ramsay is like an instrument, he requires fine tuning. He will learn to show respect to not only the noble class but those I hold in my keep under my protection. In that, I could use your aid. Will you agree to help in his reformation?"

The maid was stunned speechless gaping at Sansa, who was now staring at her pointedly. Regaining her composure, Melody mutely nodded a timid agreement. Sansa gave her a genuine broad smile of gratitude, "Good. I am most gratified that you are willing to cede to my request after what he must have put you through. Rest assured that Ramsay knows I am displeased with his conduct and should he exhibit a hint of it in my presence or any others he will be dealt immediate consequence to enforce that sort of behavior will not be tolerated." Melody stared in wide-eyed wonder mystified by Sansa's conviction and continued to numbly nod like that of a parishioner to a priest's gospel. She wholeheartedly believed Sansa's proclamation from the manner she'd observed Ramsay behave the moment Sansa had put a swift halt to his bullying just by entering the bedroom.

Seeing Melody brighten and become so agreeable after her decree had Sansa's worry that this girl would tuck tail and run at the prospect she had in mind melt away. If Melody knew what Sansa planned, she may have hesitated, but as it was, she was just grateful that the lady of the house wasn't seeing her to be at fault in this whole debacle. That in itself had calmed Melody considerably, and any gesture of service her mistress bade, she would more than happily assist Sansa to the best of her ability.

The two women remained quietly working in the tower as Sansa finished the original task she'd set out to accomplish here. It didn't take her much time to divest the last of the Bolton patches from Ramsay's clothing, and neither carried on a conversation as she did so. The silence was no longer strained though as Melody uncoiled from the terror that had gripped her pacified now by the fact that she was not to be ousted from the bastion nor was Sansa going to allow Ramsay to torment her further. Sansa's word gave Melody an inner peace and an aura of protection, a sentiment she'd not known since her father was alive and well. For once in a very long time, Melody felt safe.

***…***

Cecil stepped into the chamber holding the door open wide as Sansa strode confidently into the room with Melody trailing behind her like a shadow. Ramsay's eyes were only focused on Sansa paying the maid little mind as his throat bobbed nervously to her predatory approach. He uttered lamely, "Sansa… it's been some time. I was beginning to worry about you."

Sansa lifted a brow tilting her head to peer inquisitively down at Ramsay. Her expression told him that it wasn't her safety that he worried about in this instant and that they were both well aware that he had much more to fear if this discussion went disappointingly, "I trust that you will have more to depart to me than your concern." Her gaze leveled on him a moment longer before she turned her head back to Cecil, "Thank you; you can see yourself out now."

Offering no resistance to Sansa's command, Cecil vacated the room with an affirmative nod as Sansa slipped past Ramsay to seat herself at the table. Ramsay snorted derisively taking Melody in long enough to flash her a sneer and a needled glare before shifting away to sit to Sansa's right. The suddenness of Ramsay's mercurial expression from plaintive to hateful had halted Melody from fluidly proceeding to the table as well instead taking a moment to warily watch Ramsay move away from her. The wave of dread to be in this man's presence returned as it had engulfed her the night before, and even with Sansa mere feet away promising sanctuary should Ramsay antagonize her, Melody couldn't help but to feel afraid of him. Regaining her wits, she nervously slunk over to Sansa's left and sank into her own chair with downcast eyes as her hands worried apprehensively into her apron.

Flickering eyes took Melody in before darting disapprovingly over to Ramsay who was still affixing the maid with a harsh glare. Sansa had had her fill of this resurgence of the old Ramsay. It was even more alarming that he wasn't even trying to be subtle or covert at this juncture in the way he aimed to intimidate the servant girl. Ramsay surely knew what was at risk, Sansa knew, so why wouldn't he just stand down from such foolishness? His stubbornness reminded her of Lady when she was a willful pup and how no matter how Sansa shouted for her, the wolf would not come back if she'd spotted a small animal that would give her chase. Ramsay was no wolf; he would come back Sansa would make sure of it. She spat her rising agitation, "Do I have to tell you what will be revisited upon you if you don't stop trying to cow this girl? My brush lay only a few steps away in the confines of the nightstand. I'll have you fetch it for me as demonstration that you will not undermine my authority of you."

The threat melted Ramsay's demeanor as he visibly shrank with red face into his seat shifting his sights to his lap before peering back up into Sansa's steely glare. Ramsay's eyes were wide as saucers, and his mouth hung agape shocked that Sansa would be so bold as to announce what she could do to him in front of the maid. She'd delivered punishment to him four times in the same manner, but outside of the first two where she'd detested him, the last two had been discreet and intimate. The thought of a witness to such shaming now made Ramsay's head swim and his guts twist. She wouldn't… would she? A cold shiver ran up his spine as he internally deduced by the way she was still heatedly staring at him that Sansa most definitely would.

Realizing this, Ramsay's mind whirred as he dropped his gaze to the table, could he let her do that to him at a whim even at such great humiliation to his person? He could fight her of course, but that would end so much worse for him. It was a death wish should he try anything drastic, or a loss of trust which would land him back in chains, also an outcome Ramsay wanted no part of. Were he to rebel against her, he was at risk of hurting her, and Ramsay was beyond wishing Sansa harm, and in fact wanted her feverishly. It didn't take much to decipher that he would cede to Sansa's demand if it came down to it, and this internal known fact made Ramsay blush even more furiously.

Placated by Ramsay's now demure attitude, Sansa changed the emphasis of the conversation back to the reason she'd brought the two together, "Alright, the both of you have something brewing between you that needs hashing out. I've spoken to Melody privately, and she holds no ill will against you, Ramsay." Ramsay lifted his sights to observe Sansa attentively as she continued, "I cannot divine what has caused such animosity towards her, but regardless of how you may feel, it's completely unacceptable for you to have treated her so savagely. I've devised an idea to help you and Melody come to terms. Tomorrow, you will work alongside her," this pronouncement had Melody staring just as awestruck as Ramsay, "Your guards will accompany you, and I don't want to hear any bad reports."

Ramsay was shaking his head in disbelief, "You… you wish for me to be diminished to the role of a house maid?"

Sansa sighed, "No, I wish for you to learn to treat those who you think below you better. You made a list for me to begin restitution for the ills you have reaped, and I see no better start than with this servant whom I personally witnessed you mistreating. Did you not tell me that you would be a better man for me?"

Nodding numbly, Ramsay gave Sansa his acquiescence to her decree, but her lips pursed with impatience until he verbalized, "Yes, I did. And I will do any task you see fit for me to do, my lady." His answer must have pleased her because Sansa's mien softened as she turned her eyes to Melody, "This isn't going to be a problem for you is it?"

Melody stammered, "Na-no mistress." Sansa leaned back in her chair thinking that had gone much more smoothly than she'd anticipated at the start, and she was just glad to have some semblance of a plan on how to deal with Ramsay's insubordination. For his part, Ramsay's brow had furrowed ruminating his displeasure of this assigned punishment, but it was better than the alternative of a public chastisement. He wondered if that was still to follow but his thoughts were derailed by the opening of the chamber door by Cecil to allow the servants carrying plates of food to bustle to the table. Ramsay watched in a detached fashion as they set a placing for each of them and began dishing out portions of meats, breads, and fruit. He had been hungry, but at the start of their conversation, that need had been considerably dampened. Still, he picked up his spoon and began to push his food about his plate if for no other reason than to disengage from this very uncomfortable conversation.


	45. Smoothing Out

Chapter Forty-Four

Smoothing Out

It couldn't really be called breakfast anymore with more than half the morning gone, more of a brunch by this point. Ramsay fumed sulkily on how much of the day had already passed in misery and how when Sansa had returned yesterday night, after having been gone so many hours, that today could have been a relatively relaxing day with just the two of them had Melody just not made an appearance when he'd already been in a bad way. Ramsay wished for the shared normality of when Sansa and he were alone (even though normality had never been a reality between them over an exaggerated imagining of what he'd now lost.) He simmered quietly the foregone highlights of a day and evening wrenched away from him by this girl, whom was becoming a considerably sharper thorn in his side every passing day. Gripping his spoon tightly, Ramsay poured his anger into the implement and stared harshly at the distorted reflection that bounced off the sterling silver teapot. The warped image glowered back in challenge, a mockery of the man he'd once been, and Ramsay found himself shamefully shifting his sights back to his plate.

The meal was a silent affair, and of the three of them, only Sansa seemed to be at ease. She wasn't, but she'd long since learned to put on an appearance of indifference when it suited her to do so. Distractedly, she mulled over what she'd set in motion and how exactly she planned to implement it for Ramsay to begin his detail in the morning. What Sansa really wanted was for her and Ramsay to get back to their prior discussions delving into his past. With all that had recently transpired, Sansa was sure that prying into the delicacies of Ramsay's childhood wasn't a good idea considering his touchiness on the subject when he had been agreeable to her prodding. Currently, Ramsay was on edge with a barely contained hostility; Sansa reasoned it may be wiser to give that exploration a pause at least until the evening when the two had been able to decompress and talk at greater length. That time would come soon enough.

Peering to her left, Sansa noted that Melody had eaten a portion of the food on her plate but had stopped some time ago nervously awaiting some other command. Inwardly Sansa sighed feeling a stemming pity for the timid maid before stating serenely with a soft casted gaze in Melody's direction, "If you are finished eating, you may be excused. I will speak to Madam June about our arrangement, and you can meet with Ramsay at first light. I will have him sent to her office where she can provide you both with further direction."

At Sansa's election, Ramsay cringed doing his best to refrain from showing the disgust he felt for having Sansa make offhanded remarks on what he would be doing in his future by her dictate. Melody rose quickly giving a dutiful bow and a trembling appreciation for the food before hurrying away from the table as quickly as she could politely do so. There was an instant relief that settled over Ramsay to see the girl vacate the table knowing he had Sansa once more to himself, but that comforting sentiment dissipated when Sansa turned her fierce blue eyes back upon him questioning him crisply, "Before I left, I asked something of you. Do you remember?"

He did. Ramsay nodded taking her in through his peripheral, "Of course I remember," his voice wavered with a hint of repressed agitation, "You wanted me to tell you why I was left behind…" Ramsay paused gathering his courage before he spat derisively, "I'm an embarrassment to you or perhaps burdensome to your routine. I'm sure it's far easier to leave me here in your personal gilded cage rather than walk about the keep with me in tow. I am in full realization of where I stand with you, but know I appreciate the accompaniments of such finery over a tattered mattress lying in a dank dungeon… my lady," heavy sarcasm had melted into the last half of his statement, but Ramsay had buckled in his own rebellion by stating his claim at the table with squinted eyes rather than directly at Sansa which could be seen as a direct challenge.

Such a moody thing; Sansa tutted inwardly becoming annoyed at Ramsay's persistence to push her with his not so subtle contempt. She clipped back in equal measure, a growing provocation to his cynicism, "I don't find you burdensome, Ramsay, but your attitude is becoming a problem that I'm feeling a need to address. Is it going to become something we need to discuss further?" The way Ramsay was responding lately had her wonder if she'd moved too fast in granting him the privileges that she had afforded him finding herself hard pressed to believe he valued just how much he'd already been given. She couldn't help but to ruminate wryly that he was acting like a spoiled brat, and it made spanking him all the more fitting a punishment.

Ramsay's refocus on Sansa was immediate, and for a moment a flash of worry danced across his face before an embittered pout reemerged. He fought back the want to blurt out an apology to appease her hating that she'd browbeaten him to a degree that his first response when Sansa showed any indication of displeasure was to cower like a whipped dog. But, wasn't that what he was now? This image didn't settle well with him stirring his ego to retort negatively, yet Ramsay hesitated to goad Sansa further knowing what doing so would award him. There was a static in the air that spoke of a looming danger if he kept riling her, and Ramsay finally ceded to the warning to reign in his burgeoning discontent before it caused him further pain uttering what he'd loathed to hear come from his traitor's mouth, "No, it's not necessary… I'm …I'm sorry."

Twitching, Ramsay writhed inwardly at his lack of defiance to Sansa's ultimate authority over him as he had done on many occasions with Roose, although with Sansa, Ramsay knew that the feelings he felt for her were not one-sided as they had been with his father. There was a multitude of layers that Sansa represented as a lover interwoven with a matriarchal force that governed him. The mix made a peculiar warring spectrum of emotions for Ramsay to feel for one person. It made him swing the gamut of worshiping Sansa to the point he'd fall on a sword for her to wanting to cut her down with a sword himself.

In the past he had enjoyed the idea of being dominated by Myranda. Her small hands gripping his throat, cutting off his oxygen, and causing the blood to pound through his veins in a panic as his thoughts fuzzed into a haze and his cock throbbed in her to be the only thing he felt acutely. It was a rush, but there was no real exchange of power over a fleeting fantasy. When he tired of it, Ramsay would turn the tables and violently flip Myranda onto her back to claim her with his climax. This sort of roleplay had kept sex interesting, but what he and Sansa divulged in now was no sex game that could be ended at a whim. Even so, Ramsay couldn't disagree that a hidden part of him secretly liked the fact that Sansa had complete control of him. He'd been out of control for so long with no one to intercede, and Sansa giving him no say took the weight of choice from him that he'd always had to assert. A large part of Ramsay despised and raged at this loss of self-rule, but a placid core within him wanted structure, wanted to know that someone cared enough to stop him from destroying himself. There was an understanding that her imposed limits defined a deeper care for him because it wasn't indifference (which was all that Ramsay had come to expect from any authority figure he'd had a connection to.)

Her gaze remained upon Ramsay raking over his form as she took in his apology. He didn't really mean it, but there was something else in his expression that had replaced the haughtiness he'd exuded a moment ago. It captured her full attention as the anger that had been brewing within quieted to be replaced by curiosity. Ramsay's eyes pierced her with an intensity that stirred Sansa internally; he exuded a primal hunger that she'd come to recognize as his desire for her, but she was confused by what she could have said to have sparked this reaction. Perhaps it was just because the two were alone once more, either way, a flip had been switched, and she was not unhappy to see Ramsay regarding her in this a way.

A smile supplanted the firm line her lips had previously displayed, "I don't think you are…" Ramsay's brow lifted brandishing a countenance of confusion, "Sorry," Sansa expounded, "But for now, I'm alright with that. We've had a bit of a rocky start to our day and a restless night. I don't begrudge you your irritability in small doses, but you've been showing a remarkable level of unruliness. That sort of bad form won't go unchecked. I don't really have to explain that to you by now do I?"

Ramsay's mouth worked as he straightened in his chair. He was reminded by his shifting that it hadn't been that long since he'd last experienced Sansa's fury. There wasn't any pain now only a chaffing tingle, a ghost sting that brought back memories of her taking him in hand. It'd been awful, but what had followed the extremity of torturous smarting bites to his posterior led to some of the most intimate moments Ramsay had ever shared in his life, a cathartic release coupled with genuine tenderness. His member pulsed, and Ramsay blushed furiously clearing his throat as he sputtered, "No. You… you don't. I understand and will heed your word." He was grateful for the shielding tablecloth separating them and hiding this newly developed shame from Sansa's purview as his mind raced trying to connect the dots to where his arousal was stemming from.

Cocking her head to the side, Sansa took Ramsay in a moment longer before rising to take four steps towards him closing the gap to lay her hand on top of his. Ramsay's eyes widened staring up at her imploringly wondering what she had planned for him since the mood had shifted considerably upon her approach. Her body was no longer stiff and poised as it had been when Sansa had entered the room. He could be imaging it, but Ramsay visualized a slight sway in her hips, a sashay of sorts as she glided towards him that enthralled his attention pulling him into her like a lure on a hook. His thoughts became disjointed awash in a sea of instants to take in the swell of her breast, the allure of her gaze, and the curled tendrils of fire that framed her face.

It wasn't hard to miss the heat intensifying between them, and Sansa's grin widened deciding that there were other ways to put Ramsay in his place that didn't have to be punishment. "Disrobe, and get on the bed," Sansa huskily ordered giving Ramsay's hand a firm squeeze before retracting backwards two steps to allow compliance to her command.

Ramsay's cock had grown full mast, her words causing a shiver to course down his spine as he rose shakily beginning the task of stripping off the articles of clothing he wore. His eyes were glued to hers as he did so drinking in the power she exuded. She had asked him to strip for her a number of times now, but this time there was no bravado in his stance nor was there fear; it was as if he were not even the one performing the duty over an automatic response his limbs reacted to like that of a puppet pulled on invisible strings.

Once undressed, Ramsay remained motionless before her clutching his outfit in front of his hardon in slight hesitation to expose this part of himself even though Sansa had clearly already witnessed his condition when he'd first relinquished himself of his pants. The reluctance didn't hold out long before he set himself free to her, erection bobbing in its own heightened state. Ramsay circumvented Sansa's gaze now as his vision darted furtively about the room busying himself with resting his attire across the chair and padding over to the awaiting mattress. As he walked, his thoughts catapulted to Sansa's demeanor, and a cold dread welled within the pit of his stomach knowing the stipulations of climbing into her bed. Yet, Ramsay's body betrayed him testifying its willingness to participate no matter his mental faltering to the acts that he would be expected to engage in to be intimate with Sansa.

His muscles jittered here and there, Sansa surveyed as her own loins grew moist to Ramsay's immediate yield to her directive. The curves of his slim waist, the cut of his abdomen, and the perkiness of his bottom she had to admit she was becoming increasingly fond of viewing. Ramsay still sported dark bruising in the shape of her oval-headed brush, the marks prominently visible across the underside of his ass and bridge of his thighs where she'd concentrated most of the blows to his otherwise unblemished alabaster skin. Sansa would not comment on it, but seeing her mark upon him in this way excited her a great deal as her mind turned back to how she had come to cause these abrasions to his flesh. Ramsay had relinquished himself fully to her chastisement of him even though her heavy barrage of unerring strikes had brought him to tears draped across her lap. It wasn't the pain that had sent Ramsay over the edge, Sansa was well aware, but it had been a catalyst to destroy the barrier between them and allow the solace that followed.

Shaking her head of the past, Sansa was brought back to the present; Ramsay had climbed fully onto the bed and was peering over his shoulder at her with wide eyes depicting without question the vulnerability he was feeling. A shudder cascaded through Sansa, and her clit swelled to the display her vision took in. The sensible part of her fussed that she had much in Winterfell to attend to outside her bedchambers, but the she-wolf within didn't give a damn about any Westeros politics and was completely focused on her growing desire to climax. Winterfell could wait, Sansa decided dismissively as she strode to Ramsay more than eager to work off a bit of the previous tension that had culminated between the two.

Ramsay was propped up on his knees with feet hanging over the side of the bed when Sansa sidled up behind him leaving them almost the same height. Her hot breath spanned the length of his shoulders as Sansa's hungry lips traced from the nape of Ramsay's neck down his spine. One hand possessively sank into his left hip while the other exploratively crept around to Ramsay's middle running up his chest and down to his belly button. Letting out a frustrated whine, Ramsay's mind willed Sansa to continue her descent to his awaiting cock. She didn't, and his penis pulsed oozing droplets of precum in its aching anticipation of being stroked. Rocking his hips upward in small thrusts, Ramsay mimicked the act of copulation to assuage his body's growing need hoping that Sansa would grab his erection guided by his action as it became maddening for her to be so close yet not touch him there.

"Patience," Sansa cooed into his ear tugging Ramsay's form back into her enjoying the ripple of his muscles and heave of his chest against her own. Her voice resonated through him, and Ramsay's head fell lackadaisically back onto her shoulder. His eyes fluttered closed with pleasure as his thoughts were drawn into a pacification to take in the full affect of their bodies melding together. Sansa clutched Ramsay's frame tighter; his relent in this manner having her grip him roughly, almost painfully, as she cinched him in place to her front. Her mouth took on a carnal ravenous bite and suckle to his exposed skin, and barely audible moans of ecstasy escaped in truncated gasps from Ramsay's lips as Sansa's fiery covetous kisses burned down the length of his nape. Pin pricks of pain caused by her teeth and the course way she wrenched him about sent a jolt of excitement through Ramsay as his body twitched and surged up and down like a rippling wave to the flow of her wild abandon.

He still smelled lightly of her bath salts, but his own musk had mixed and overpowered it to bring out the unique scent that was Ramsay. His scent reminded Sansa of rawhide, wild and gamey with a hint of spring rain. Perhaps all the time Ramsay had spent trapesing about the woods had infused these odors within him, or maybe her knowledge of his pastimes intermingled to pull Sansa's mind to mentally formulate what she took in as Ramsay's essence. Either way, it was pleasing to inhale at such close proximity and fueled her lust for him further.

The fact that Ramsay seemed to be not only accepting her sexual dominance over him but sinking into a state of euphoria had Sansa's own enthusiasm peak as her hand on his core braced his chest like a splayed talon and the one holding his hip released to backtrack across the meat of his hindquarters. Her fingertips grazed the wounded flesh taking in the contours of his flank and how the texture changed as her hand made its descent to the shelf of his ass. Reactively, Sansa grabbed a handful of the plump bottom resting in her hand shivering to feel that the skin still held a minute amount of heat. Sansa was not gentle with her fondling as her clasp on his cheek grew tighter in a want to absorb the warmth radiating from his inflamed flesh a little more fully.

Ramsay's eyes flared open to this renewed discomfort eliciting a hiss and a jerk as his back arched from the surprise of Sansa's forcefulness with him. This didn't seem to sway her actions as her hand proceeded to lift and spread his ass exposing what lie previously hidden. His head spun around to take in what Sansa was now entranced by. The scene before him filling Ramsay with great shame and dread to see the avarice Sansa's gaze held looking at his entrance. It was no secret to take him anally was the route this venture was going; Sansa would be sticking her glass phallus inside him soon enough. What was most troubling to Ramsay now was that the thought of her doing so brought back their last encounter where she'd found that secret place deep within that drained him of every drop of cum in his balls. It was an electrifying experience that his cock remembered fondly growing harder yet as the rumination of Sansa reenacting that feeling had his member trickling an unbroken line of precum into the comforter below.

A tremor shook Ramsay's leg, and Sansa slid the transgressing hand further down to clasp around his inner thigh taking Ramsay off balance as she swept his limb in an outward arch to the side to open his legs wide before her. Ramsay grunted a small dismaying sound but did not resist her movements of him. He was rewarded further when Sansa's hand retraced back up the inside of his thigh to cup his testicles firmly. Ramsay gasped his pleasure trembling in excitement as Sansa's fingers maneuvered forward sliding across his balls to wrap around the base of his penis and stroke him to the tip pulling his cock's lubrication down the length and back up again in a slow methodical manner that was almost worse than her not having fondled him at all. Ramsay could stand the slow teasing progression no longer and found himself jackhammering into her closed fist to Sansa's malevolent chuckle, "Always so impetuous," she chided playfully although she did not release him and instead squeezed Ramsay's member harder to accommodate his efforts. He grew rock hard in her hand panting like a dog as he worked for release. It came when the hand she had been securing his chest to her form rose up his bucking frame to grip his throat. She did not crush or choke him, but her hand was locked rigidly around his jugular as she pulled him to her body and whispered in his ear, "Go on; do it. I want to see you expel your seed for me."

That disclosure was all Ramsay had needed to hear, and he roared out a high-pitched cry of elation as he was propelled into a rapture that felt like an internal explosion. His orgasm spasmed through him a full minute after his body was no longer physically capable of ejecting more. He was dully aware that Sansa was still stroking his softening member gently after he'd slumped down upon her chest. Sansa murmured through velvety kisses placed upon Ramsay's temple, "There, now that that's taken care of… it's my turn."


	46. Reciprocation

Chapter Forty-Five

Reciprocation

Her turn… Ramsay stiffened with eyes flitting open in alarm having had the fog of arousal now lifted from his conscience. He'd been far more willing to endure her penetrating him in order to find release when his needs had not been fulfilled, but now the thought of her doing so wasn't overly appealing.

Heedless of Ramsay's change in demeanor, Sansa was ready to continue seeking her own pleasure. Her hand slipped away from his throat to glide back down and under Ramsay's arm as she gently wrapped her hand around his stomach flitting her fingers up and down over his belly button. Her lips followed suit cascading a slow descent down the side of his face and across the length of his jawline. Ramsay had enjoyed this sort of affection from her; he still did, but his form no longer shifted like a reed in the wind to her ministrations. The way his body went rigid against her and the vacant stare he leveled at the ceiling had Sansa pausing thoughtfully at Ramsay's chin; he didn't want to play anymore.

Of course, he didn't, Sansa inwardly scoffed slightly irritated to know that Ramsay was only a willing participant when it came to fulfilling his own gratification. She'd long ago come to realize that this wasn't exactly an unexpected phenomenon among men though. Many often drunkenly bragged in the mead halls on the glories of their exploitation of the women around them and hardly ever was there mention of any want to reciprocate over what they believed they'd done so well. Growing into womanhood, she was no longer protected from any man that would fathom speaking so crassly in front of her or her sister, Arya. Her mother's piercing glare and barbed quips had typically been enough to contain any would-be language unfit to befall a lady's ears.

In the absence of her mother, Sansa had learned to artfully avoid these sorts of crude conversations by simply disengaging and disappearing quietly into the shadows. She hadn't realized until much later just how much her mother had sheltered her from these repugnant realities leaving her with impractical fantasies of a knightly man born of story books to one day whisk her away. Those blossoming dreams that had flourished in her young girl's mind had been tattered and darkened many times over and turned into vivid waking nightmares the day her father's head had been served to her as a 'gift of mercy' by her betrothed. She'd played the victim of every man she was given to save Tyrion Lannister who was kind enough to just let her be. It had hardened her want to appease any man and bore within her a fire to instead consume that which she could now take.

"Move the covers aside, lie down, and prepare yourself for me. I will be gentle," Sansa's tone was aloof and belied the words she spoke leaving a cold chill to run up Ramsay's spine. He swiveled his worried sights over to link with hers, and what he saw in the depth of her eyes had him swallowing hard. Sansa's stare imbued Ramsay with a sense of wariness that she would broker no hesitation. She wasn't asking him to do this, it was a veiled command to submit. The immediacy to want to react created a wave of humiliation to vibe through him as Ramsay awkwardly shifted forward feeling the warmth of Sansa's body vacate from behind him and slip off the bed. His ears pricked to the gentle creaking of wood sliding over wood as Sansa rummaged through the nightstand drawer followed by the clinking sounds of glass as she pulled out the items she would need.

Mutely, Ramsay frowned as he tugged down the comforter staring at the inviting spread beneath. The bed was stuffed with the softest down feathers, and the linen was finely threaded, but it was the last place Ramsay wanted to lie. His erection had completely dissipated leaving him to hang unenthusiastically limp as his balls shrank protectively into his body in protest of what Ramsay knew was the culminations of the noises coming from the nightstand's haul. He stayed gazing at the empty spot meant for him a moment longer before feeling the bed move as Sansa's knees embedded into the mattress signifying that she was ready to proceed to the next phase of their engagement. Ramsay couldn't help tarrying long enough to glance back to watch Sansa languidly climb up and over to him. She'd inserted the glass phallic into herself having lifted the pleats of her skirts up and away to reveal the protrusion slapping unbendingly against her belly.

Smirking devilishly at Ramsay, Sansa swirled the vile of oil in her other hand like a tipsy drunk. Her amusement was evident as she bantered, "If you don't want to lie on the bed, I can always take you from behind. I rather enjoyed you that way." She really had, and the thought of Ramsay bent over in the manner she'd first entered him sent a thrill through Sansa that caused the glass cock jutting out of her vulva to pulse with her internal contraction.

She hadn't bothered to disrobe Ramsay observed, but his attention was usurped elsewhere as his eyes widened with dismay having been instantaneously fixated to the glass prong's approach and even more so to see it seemingly throb of its own accord to Sansa's statement. The memory of her inserting herself into him from behind was not a pleasant one. She'd gone deep and had been ruthless with him when Ramsay was already ravaged and sore from a full night's raping. His sphincter tightened and his gut shook reactively in remembered misery. Ramsay shook his head with a sense of urgency, "I would rather lie down," he blurted quickly emphasizing his statement by rolling onto his back to leave no further debate that he'd chosen to yield to her original instruction.

The doe-eyed expression that oftentimes dominated Ramsay's visage haunted Sansa now. She was attracted to the vulnerability etched on his face, but it also dampened the more vulgar side of her sexual desires that she wanted to indulge in now. If he had presented his backside to her as she'd suggested, Sansa was almost certain the shifting nature that wanted to grind herself into him and hump him like a beast would have prevailed to her better judgement to be mindful of how she claimed the body before her.

It was hard to fight the unquenchable thirst to use Ramsay in the various ways that had dominated her fantasies many nights over throughout the long carriage ride to and from his mother's mill. These ruminations clung to her mind covetously to drive a spike of craving that was difficult to deny given the fact that she could technically carry them out at will if she truly wanted to. As much as her sexual appetite would be satiated to concede to these longings, the retroactive damage caused would be a major wound to the relationship. In this way, Sansa was relieved Ramsay's stare gave her the restraint she needed to pull back the reins of her libido. Sansa was reminded of her oath to not give in to her wants; it wasn't worth carelessly hurting Ramsay or diminishing the trust she'd built with him over the past few encounters they'd shared. She couldn't risk another slip in her own control.

As her eyes traversed over his form, Ramsay found his body trembling against his own wishes; he could feel the visceral quiver vibrating through him as he settled into the soft mattress. It was an almost undetectable tremor unlike the evident quaking his frame had taken on the first time Sansa had put him on his back to enter him. That shiver had been caused by fear, and as dreaded as this particular sexual act had been for him, Ramsay couldn't say that he was afraid of the pain Sansa may cause him (although it was still uncomfortable) over what new sensations that had been evoked from her gentle explorations the last time she'd impaled him.

 _I don't want this!_ Ramsay's mind screamed. Yet, his balls stirred at Sansa's approach causing his insides to churn in anticipation not founded in anxiety but roiling excitement. Ramsay did want this; he wanted Sansa to subvert his will and do what she pleased with him, but his ego was afraid to forfeit acknowledgement to the fact he could or would not only allow himself to accept her taking him in this way but that he could actually find her doing so arousing.

It was a dichotomy of waring emotions where Ramsay's id actively fought his ego for dominance, an internal tug of war where his ego was slowly losing ground against the outweighing positives surrendering to Sansa presented. It was more than sexual desire that propelled Ramsay to want to be taken in this way; on some level, subconsciously this act stripped away his dignity as a man and felt fated and deserved. A secret penance to receive an ounce of the anguish he'd put upon others to suffer. Ramsay's ego didn't prescribe to this notion at all though vehemently refusing to recognize fault in himself because it reaped the verification of remorse, and culpability meant responsibility which was another confliction within Ramsay's psyche that he was being made to come to terms with at an alarming rate.

The glass bulb was shockingly cold knocking Ramsay out of his inner contemplations to fully engage himself with what was actively about to happen. Sansa had lathered the apparatus well, sidled in to where the fabrics of her dress now draped behind her and tickled the inside of his legs as her oiled hands slid up his thighs to the crook of his knees to start the process of gently moving his ass higher into the trajectory of her awaiting toy. Ramsay had absently observed her doing so, but he hadn't physically reacted until she'd brought herself near enough to begin actively connecting their bodies with her phallic extension. Involuntarily, Ramsay's ass clenched and his opened thighs tightened to Sansa's hips giving a slight resistance to her prodding to elevate him, but this opposition was fleeting as Ramsay took in a deep audible intake of breath and forced his legs to comply with Sansa's gentle urging.

Sansa took Ramsay's hesitance to heart and paused her forward momentum, "Are you alright, Ramsay?" She stared meaningfully into his saucer-wide eyes cradling his legs to her sides and letting her palms descend down to Ramsay's hips and back up again caressing the shuddering limbs in an attempt to sooth his nerves. Slowly, Ramsay's head rattled a nod, but his gaze conveyed a contradiction to his apparent approval. Sansa supposed what she asked of him was still difficult for Ramsay to internally accept, but the fact that he was willing to move past the mental barrier to give her what she wanted surged an even greater inclination to take what he offered while he was still favorable to her doing so.

Moving close enough to fully pierce into Ramsay, Sansa balanced his weight against her own taught thighs affixing the pleats of her dress more fully behind her so that they would not get in her way. Once she was angled to maneuver artfully in and out of Ramsay, Sansa took the vile of oil she'd set to the side to pour a few drops to Ramsay's opening watching the flesh there pucker protectively. The sight of Ramsay's further vulnerability caused Sansa's sex to generate a wave of heat and a desire to penetrate him just to see her access him in this way. Her sights marveled enthralled to behold the act of watching her hand angling the bulb of her manmade cock down to meet Ramsay's entrance, the reaction Ramsay gave to her swirling the droplets of oil to compensate her tool into his sensitive skin, and the push against him to finally pierce through the initial resistance his sphincter held to the invasion she presented and see herself slide into him.

There was a rapture to this that only built to hear Ramsay grunt a high-pitched whine not quite pained but a representation of how she was affecting him so deeply on a tangible level. Sansa moaned her pleasure taking in how Ramsay's brow furrowed and his lip twitched to the cadence of her slow easing inside an inch to then back out enough to further coat her device with more drops of oil before continuing to insert herself a section past where she'd already thrust.

Ramsay's hands dug into the bed attempting to brace against the intrusion and trying his best to relax even though Sansa's continued prodding elicited a steady burn in his backside that he found very hard not to try to physically resist. Ramsay grit his teeth in an attempt to muffle the gasping a mantra of groans conjured by her continued insertion. His breath hitched erratically in a struggle to compensate for the intense sensations that threatened to overwhelm him as Sansa drove into him fully to the point he could feel her cunt pressed firmly against his balls stretching him to the maximum capacity she was capable of. Ramsay convulsed underneath her weight as Sansa began gyrating her hips in a circular motion searching to uncover that hidden spot she'd discovered within him now that she was in Ramsay to the hilt. Sansa watched his face closely, and when Ramsay's eyes widened, and he gasped out an exclamation jolting upwards to crush their bodies into one another, Sansa knew that she had Ramsay right where she wanted him.

Swaying like a boat on a rocky sea, Sansa maneuvered her hips side to side in a jarring fashion as she continued to pump into Ramsay. He'd gone rigid when she'd found that spot again as a dawning realization flooded over his countenance that he very much did want to cum again to her ministrations. Their bodies began to move in tandem then as Ramsay equally worked to find orgasm alongside Sansa. Feeling his active participation had Sansa moving at an accelerated rate as her own climax headed and the pressure between actively pushing and pulling her phallus into Ramsay and his own body's juddering causing her insides to tighten around the bulb within herself in a desperate need to reach her own culmination to their shared sexual escapade.

Their lips collided passionately until Sansa's frame stiffened and she released an undulated cry of ecstasy into Ramsay's mouth. Ramsay felt her pulsing vulva throb through his inner core, and to know that he had made her cum was the final point that drove him to ejaculate alongside her wanting to share in their mutual intimacy. Sansa reached behind to pull her toy both out of herself and out of Ramsay noting from the previous engagement that Ramsay had felt uncomfortable when she'd left it inside him. Ramsay sighed his relief, and Sansa collapsed on his chest as the two breathed heavily attempting to recover from their physical bout. Sansa's long auburn hair had come loose in her efforts and now spilled messily across Ramsay's face. He didn't mind, and in fact, he felt more sexually satisfied than he'd ever been resting in Sansa's arms monitoring how their racing heartbeats seemed to slow at the same rate. Ramsay's arms encircled her waist tentatively, and Sansa rewarded his action by squeezing her own arms more tightly around his shoulders to hug him back. She lifted her face from beside his, so that their noses almost collided from the closeness. Her expression wasn't something she often reflected. Ramsay had only caught a glimpse of this composure directed towards him prior, but it was calming to see Sansa was completely at ease. She kissed the tip of Ramsay's nose playfully, and he let out a small chuckle staring appreciatively back up at her once more in awe of how he could have managed to become this attached to a woman he'd originally saw as an object followed by a threat to all he held dear. The truth was, Sansa was his deliverance, and Ramsay not only realized this but welcomed her to be the searing flame to cleanse his soul. Lying in her embrace, it was easy to decide he was ready to be purified at her behest.


	47. Advent

Chapter Forty-Six

Advent

A heavy boom of knuckles rapped against the oaken door disturbing the bliss of their shared moment. Sansa and Ramsay both stiffened given the current display they made on the bed and what a scene it would paint for any who would enter without discretion. They scrambled to right themselves as a second stream of knocks followed the first marking the call an urgent hail for attention. "One moment!" Sansa called out irritably as she fumbled out of the twisted sheets looking down at her dress with a frown. She was rather disheveled and sweaty from their recent activities and certainly too unkempt to answer her door with the dignity expected of a highborn lady.

Snatching a scarf from her vanity, Sansa quickly wrapped the material around her head to cover the tangled locks and wiped vigorously with a washcloth from the basin at the evaporating stain on her dress that Ramsay's excitement had left upon her. She growled in frustration as she tossed the rag to Ramsay who's first priority had been to remove all evidence of what had just transpired on Sansa's bed by burying her toy under the sheets and throwing the vile of oil back into the nightstand. He'd since moved over to the chair that held his clothes and had begun in haste to dress himself. He paused long enough to catch the rag and swipe over the mutual mess made between their love making and had donned his pants by the time that Sansa was hastily making her way over to the door with furious clipped heels.

Sansa gave a quick gaze over her shoulder to observe Ramsay was decent before hauling the door open a crack, "Yes, what is it?" Sansa tried to keep the impatience out of her voice, but the harried feelings of having to quickly disengage from the moment her and Ramsay had just been sharing carried over in her tone. The man on the other side of the door was neither Temeric nor Cecil but one of the portcullis guards coming to deliver a message. Her brow furrowed to see him at her door, and an immediate fear spiked through Sansa as her first thoughts moved to Jon. She steeled a breath bracing herself as she opened the door a little wider to receive whatever news this man heralded.

"It's lord Bran milady; he has returned to Winterfell," the man announced briskly, and Sansa's jaw slackened in awe. By this point, Ramsay had thrown on his shirt and boots having maneuvered up to stand quietly behind Sansa blinking in equal astonishment to hear another, once thought dead, Stark had reentered the keep. Sansa threw the door open receptively as she stepped out of her chamber and into the corridor to elatedly declare, "Take me to him at once!" The soldier nodded turning about-face to comply with his mistress' earnest request, and Sansa bounded after him.

Not having been told to stay put, Ramsay took the opportunity to follow. He'd be damned if he was to be left behind to wait however many more hours for Sansa's return if he could get away with accompanying her now. Ramsay was thankful, as they traversed down the hallway at a steady pace, that Sansa seemed not to have taken notice of his presence behind her; he hoped that once she finally did heed his attendance that she would not send him back with his envoy of guards who simply took up residence behind Ramsay to pursue their charge as he shadowed Sansa's brisk stride.

The closer they drew to the castle's gate the faster Sansa's pace grew to a point that Ramsay found he was practically jogging to keep up with her. Her gait had not surpassed the guard who had come to fetch her, but her own haste tallied the man to pick up his step to match her urgency.

No one stopped their procession, but it was apparent that those of council to Sansa's court noted Ramsay in tow and deeply frowned their disapproval at his passing. Ramsay merely smirked back in retaliation lifting his chin to turn his nose up at them. He inwardly scoffed at their derision wishing that he could show them his contempt their boring stares elicited within him, but there was no time to make petty comments, and Ramsay was more than sure such a display would not be taken idly by Sansa who had made a point to call him out for his lack of respect and how she'd not tolerate it scant hours ago. She was highly distracted and likely may not even notice if he did give a subtle remark of disdain to those that slighted him in glares alone, but Ramsay wasn't about to risk garnering any negative attention from her when he was already lucky to be granted his current freedom to accompany her this far.

Rounding the bend, Sansa stutter stopped to gape at the wagon where her brother sat gazing placidly in her direction. He looked so different; she marveled to take in his once boyish features that had melted away to chisel out the makings of a young man. The two stared at one another for a long moment as Sansa's mind worked to affirm that what she saw before her was in fact a reality.

"Hello, Sansa," Bran announced casually as if they'd not been separated by hundreds of miles and what felt a lifetime to her. She had no words having been shaken to her core as her emotions kicked into gear sending her racing forward to ascend into the wagon and wrap her arms around Bran's shoulders. Soft tears of joy escaped her in muffled gasps as Sansa clung tightly to her brother; as she did so, Bran's gaze met Ramsay. The way that he stared at him, no, stared through him Ramsay thought, sent a shiver to sweep over his person. This young man was the would-be lord of Winterfell superseding Jon by birthright as a trueborn successor. If he didn't care for Ramsay, all it would take would be a simple command, and neither Sansa nor Jon could save him from the fate many here would be all too agreeable to carry out. Stiffening to these reservations, Ramsay clasped his hands behind himself and bowed his head in submission hoping to lose the haunted deadpan stare the younger lord still fixed upon him.

Gaining her composure, Sansa leaned back to look at Bran seeing where his eyes now hovered, and her own sights drifted to Ramsay. He was the elephant in the room that she wasn't sure exactly how to address or how to introduce. Should she present Ramsay as her husband… her war prisoner… or her concubine turned lover? Their relationship was rather complicated when one knew all that had transpired prior to the retaking of their home, and when one didn't… well, it left Sansa at a loss for words. Stepping down from the wagon, Sansa remarked awkwardly, "Let's get you out of the cold. We've much to talk about."

Bran was hoisted from the carriage by one of the keep's stronger soldiers, and Meera was given direction as to where to lead the wagon to be unloaded. Before the group could continue their momentum towards the castle, the youngest Stark halted their advancement, "Can we got to the weir tree first? I wish to feel connected more than to be warmed by the hearth."

The hesitation was only a moment before Sansa nodded her ascent and the big man carrying Bran diverted course to take the boy where he wished to go. Ramsay moved to follow, but this time Sansa held up a hand, and Ramsay froze as she gave him a somber expression, "I know you wish to accompany me now, but I need to speak to my brother free from outsiders."

Ramsay's brow furrowed in obvious disappointment, and he frowned clipping bitterly, "I see. Back in the box is it then?"

Sansa returned the sentiment with a grimace of her own as she chided, "Don't be like that. You know that is not what's happening here." She nodded to Temeric and Cecil who stepped forward when her eyes settled upon them, "Take Ramsay back to my chambers, and send for a servant to fill the bath." Sansa's eyes moved back to Ramsay whose frown had turned into a petulant sulk; she couldn't help but smirk in amusement at his display speaking low enough for only his ears to hear, "Go on, I will not be gone terribly long, and perhaps if the waters have not run cold by the time I return, I may join you."

This comment elicited a waver in Ramsay's pout as the thought of Sansa coming back to share his bath was inviting. It cheered him considerably although Ramsay did his best to downplay his true feelings on her admission with a subdued nod turning away from her without further word. With quickening steps, Ramsay departed Sansa's company causing Temeric and Cecil to swivel jerkily to march after him. Sansa observed their parting giving a soft tired sigh before turning back towards the Godswood to follow after the soldier ambling slowly away with Bran.

***…***

The walk to the weir tree was devoid of speech although Sansa's sights had met her brother's mien unable to break away from the stolid expression he granted her from over the sentry's shoulder that carried him to their destination. It was a passiveness that felt as if she were staring at a painting rather than a living being. Sansa missed her family terribly, but the man that watched her now was not the Bran she knew. He was a stranger wearing a familiar face.

Depositing Bran gently onto the compacted snow and against the base of the weir tree, the guard backed away giving Sansa a nod before moving to stand well out of earshot as a means to give privacy while remaining close enough to be hailed to retrieve the young lord when their conversation had been deemed complete. Once the soldier had moved away, Sansa maneuvered over to adjust the fur pelts around Bran's legs and waist to ensure he was warm before she adjusted her own cloak to sit on it in the snow beside him. As she did so, Bran's expression remained aloof, and once she'd finally settled, the two shared a long moment of silence before Sansa opened, "Your arrival missed Jon's departure by days; he would've liked knowing you've made it home safely."

Nodding, Bran responded impassively, "Yes; I need to speak to him. There's much to prepare for before the long night comes again."

His odd manner and words puzzled her, so Sansa stated what Bran may not yet have realized, "You are father's last heir which makes you lord of Winterfell." She didn't have room in the conversation to continue as her brother gave a noncommittal shake of his head, "I can't be lord of Winterfell; I'm the three-eyed-raven."

It was Sansa's turn to shake her head in confusion, "I'm not grasping your meaning."

Bran stated simply, "It's complicated to explain."

"Please… I need you to make an attempt," Sansa countered with a sense of insistence.

Bran paused pondering a moment before beginning anew with a candid tone, "I'm the Three-eyed-raven; I know what's happening now, what's happened in the past, and what will happen in the future. It's all happening at once in my head. I see everything and everyone, but it's hard to put the pieces together and make sense of it," he nodded affirmingly stating more to himself than her, "I need to learn to see better."

Instead of shedding light, his explanation only served to confuse Sansa further as she stuttered, "How… I… I don't understand?"

"The Three-eyed-raven taught me to see," Bran replied, and Sansa shook her head more mystified than ever, "Didn't you just say that you were the Three-eyed-raven…?" Bran's sights travelled to the face on the weir tree at a loss on how to explain his visions as he stated, "I told you; it's complicated."

This circular conversation had started to vex her, and Sansa sighed in exasperation opening her mouth to voice her frustration when Bran's eyes fixed upon her in all seriousness, "They don't understand why you keep him, but I do. It's good for you… after what he's done to you… to so many."

Sansa blinked in surprise as the weight of Bran's revelation hit her like an anvil and a flush of shame colored her cheeks. Her mouth parted in awe wanting to comment, but she had no words to accompany the sentiments his statement bombarded upon her.

Bran's gaze had moved away from her to stare off into the tree line as he continued, "Don't second guess your past decisions; for him or for you… it needed to happen. He owes you a path to heal, and with patience, you can find it together." All of what Bran confronted her with now was more than Sansa could digest, and she shook her head in denial standing hastily. She was unready to fathom the implications behind Bran's account and what details were left in his veiled declaration. She uttered apprehensively finding an urgent need to move away from this conversation, "We… we should go back now; I have to attend to other matters."

His eyes remained distant as he nodded, "Go on. I'll stay a while longer." Sansa paused shifting awkwardly before gladly turning away to flee back towards the keep as her mind worked to process and make sense of all that had just transpired between them.

***…***

Ramsay's face burned with humiliation as he trudged back past those same noblemen who deigned look down upon him as he'd followed Sansa out to this place. Their countenances practically glowed with a radiating smugness to have seen him turned away and worst referred to as an outsider when Sansa had done so. She'd unwittingly distanced Ramsay from herself as just another subject to do as he was bid (not that in some way this was not the actuality of his situation regarding the lady of the house, but Ramsay preferred that his status would have remained an air of mystery to men like these.) He would have liked to have kept them guessing what his actual significance within house Stark had become since Sansa had obviously changed the manner in which she dealt with him.

No remark or laughter trailed after Ramsay as he stormed by them in a flurry of hurried steps with head bowed to avoid their judgement as he returned to Sansa's bed chamber to await her arrival once more, but Ramsay knew by the change in their stance that these men now regarded him differently than they had only moments ago. A wave of agitation and annoyance coursed through him at the loss of self this small insignificant interaction caused him. It reminded Ramsay of the days when he'd first came to his father as an unwelcomed bastard. The higher born regarded him then in the same manner, and it niggled him now as a point that he'd lost so much repute that he'd never be given an option to regain.

Instances where he wasn't being locked away from all others purview often refreshed these flares of indignity within Ramsay. When Sansa had been gone, and it was just he and Jon or he and his guards walking about the bastion, there was a period of adjustment, but for the most part, Ramsay had felt distanced from much of the stain his loss on the battlefield had brought him. His failure still swept through his thoughts entirely too often, but the shame of his station then bore down on Ramsay far less than it was now.

He wasn't really sure why this was; perhaps standing next to Jon none needed to question the validity of Ramsay's position, and with his guards, he was most definitely seen as a prisoner and nothing more. But, next to Sansa… Ramsay's chest tightened, next to her, he was an anomaly because no one else knew the true standing of their relationship. All that any were made privy to was that first night when he'd been made a spectacle of, an object of misery that had been clearly destroyed for all to witness his fall. He was _her_ Reek to anyone observing their interactions, and this fact welled a deep pit of resentment within Ramsay because he above anyone knew exactly how others perceived such a wretch as that which he'd turned Theon into. Ramsay had reveled in the other man's degradation and made a point to make Theon feel every bit the part of a broken man. It made the affirmation that he was cowed all the more bitter a sting to Ramsay's pride when Sansa chose to demonstrate her will over him in public.

It was not Sansa's intent to make him feel this way, and on a higher level, Ramsay knew this to be the case, but his baser qualities were wearing at his sensibilities and letting the anger build and outweigh his rational side. Wisdom told Ramsay that his frustration was fruitless and would bring him nothing but further misfortune should he continue to dwell in his discontent, but Ramsay was never very good at listening to that inner voice choosing instead to shut it out to let his temper consume him as he festered barreling down the hallway heedless of both Temeric and Cecil's tentative attempt to open a light dialogue with him. Neither guard pushed further giving one another a shared glance and choosing to just let Ramsay blow off steam. Both men had been around their ward long enough to see the storm brewing, and they mutually decided without word to just let Ramsay be in hopes that given time his agitation would simmer down on its own.

Ramsay didn't stop his brusque march until he'd passed the threshold of the master bedroom as the heavy door groaned its impact to signify he'd closed himself off from the rest of the world once more. Earlier this same feeling of aloneness had brought about a swirling vexation in him to want to be free of the alienation being sentenced to stay put here brought about, but now this same solitude was welcoming. Ramsay sighed finally allowing himself some measure of calm as he trudged over to the bed to slump down upon it kicking his boots off as he did so.

He could expect a bath to be filled for him soon, and maybe even to have Sansa join him. Sitting on the bed and thinking of Sansa brought back the memory of their last sexual encounter, and his lip twitched remembering her phallus still lay covered over within the sheets of the bed mere inches away from where he now sat. Ramsay threw the comforter aside to uncover the hidden item hesitantly falteringly as he reached out to touch it. The distinct shape and polished smoothness had been burned into Ramsay's mind, but seeing it laying loosely without Sansa wrapped around it or associated with it at all made her toy look a lot less ominous. The sudden image of taking the object and chucking it out the window to rid it from his life for good was a fleeting thought Ramsay entertained although he knew better than to do anything so brash and foolish. Sansa had already proven she had at least one other implement at her disposal to penetrate him with, and the phallus wasn't really the aim of his exasperation over a symptom of the whole that drove Ramsay to feel insecure in his masculinity.

Reaching over to open up the nightstand drawer, Ramsay scooped up the glass prong and quickly shoved it inside the opened compartment slamming the drawer shut quickly to remove the item from view before allowing himself to lay back heavily on the bed with a deflated exhale. Ramsay's mind raced as he stared up at the ceiling before slowly drifting about the room's sparsely decorated with Sansa's belongings; this really was a gilded cage he was being confined to.

His predicament wasn't a new revelation to him, but the fact that he wasn't at all pressed to escape it was a point that left Ramsay rather perplexed. Had he ever entertained the notion of escape? He hadn't really thought it possible and assumed his execution had been an imminent sentence waiting to be carried out. In his earliest hours of capture, where Ramsay had come into consciousness and experienced the first wave of punishments Sansa had departed upon him, he had considered the possibility of killing Sansa at all costs once she had stated death would not be a release he was to be granted. If he'd slain her, it would have left no other option but to end him as well. Those deliberations had been before Ramsay had endured a full day tied to his cross with a wooden peg shoved inside of him followed by a ravaging that started at dusk and hadn't ended until the wee hours of day break the following evening.

There hadn't been much self or coherent thought that was left in Ramsay after that occurrence, and it wasn't until recently that he'd even begun feeling any semblance of his old self, however changed, to be strong enough to break the veneer of who he'd been involuntarily transformed into. He had wished for death many times over in the beginning but never freedom. Ramsay hadn't contemplated why until now, but mulling the notion over, he assumed he'd subconsciously realized there really was nothing out there for him if he had escaped other than his demise.

The Dreadfort lay manned with some few second cousins of his father's kin and a handful of men that remained loyal due to the land they lived on prior to he and his father moving to Winterfell. To show his face there, Ramsay was almost certain the only welcome he'd receive would have been a return to Winterfell in hopes of a reward or a flaying in honor of his family's crest for the dishonor Ramsay had reaped upon its sigil. The disassociation to his loose kin brought a pang of sorrow through Ramsay knowing he'd never been one of them the entirety of his life outside the brief naming given upon his siege of Moat Cailin. Absently he wondered if word of that decree had ever reached the Dreadfort and whether that knowledge would have been recognized at all given his defeat. Ramsay frowned bitterly closing his eyes to try and shut out the plaguing imagined rejection his mind toiled over to contemplate these unknowns. Even in his conceptions of false realities, his fate ended in the negative.

Typically, when Ramsay's ruminations began to turn sour like this, he would find drink to distract him and people to hurt to amuse himself. It deadened the need to look inward and made him far less dour by allowing his proclivities to hurdle Ramsay into a mindset that he was untouchable. Rarely had Ramsay been challenged to shed that mask until now, but there was no default to fall back on anymore, no one to make feel the pain he needed to unburden, so here he was, lost in contemplation as his developing conscience wreaked havoc on him once more. It was a cycle that Ramsay found he fell into often these days, and it made him considerably broodier than he had been. It was hard to actively consider one's faults regularly but given he didn't have much else to take his time up with, that was exactly what Ramsay's cognizance was drawn back to again and again.

The door creaked, and Ramsay's attentions were drawn to it expecting a maid to present themselves to begin the task of filling his bath, but it was Sansa. Surprised by her earlier than expected arrival, Ramsay's face illuminated with a smile as he jerked up to a sitting position. The grin he wore faltered seeing that her face was ashen and grim, "What's wrong?" Ramsay questioned worriedly hopping to his feet. Sansa did no more than glance in his direction vaguely noting he'd spoken before gliding over to the table to pull out a chair and sit down.

Worry grew within him as Ramsay approached Sansa standing idly beside her unsure on what more to say or do if Sansa was unwilling to offer more. Usually his patience would have run thin to not get an immediate answer to his serious inquiry, and Ramsay would have resorted to intimidation or veiled malice to get answers forthwith, but now he was having to develop new interactions to express his urgency to know, and it left him stymied and uncertain. Ramsay was thankful Sansa didn't leave him stewing long, and her gaze travelled up to settle on him wavering thoughtfully, "Sit Ramsay. There's nothing wrong; I've just got a lot on my mind."

"Like what?" A hint of firmness laced his words as Ramsay pulled out the chair next to Sansa to join her at the table. Her sights bore into him as Ramsay seated himself with an expression that wavered between pensive and concerned, "I'm not ready to discuss it with you," Sansa countered evenly, and Ramsay's brow crinkled bothered by her dismissal, "What? Why?"

A furrow of agitation had worked its way across Sansa's mien feeling harried by Ramsay's badgering to know and the inability to formulate how best to absorb what she'd learned let alone debate its meaning with him as she snapped, "I don't have to explain myself to you, Ramsay. I will speak when I am willing, and you will hush and leave me to my thoughts until I'm ready to address you."

It still shocked Ramsay when Sansa spoke to him in such an aggressive manner. It spurred him to want to goad her to answer him, but just as he'd been forced to with his father, Ramsay swallowed his rebuttal only staring at Sansa with a clear peeved expression plastered on his face as he folded his arms tightly against his chest leaning back in his chair and letting out a muffled growl to state his discontent with her shutting him down so fully.

Sansa's countenance hadn't shifted at all during Ramsay's obvious display of offence, and once he'd finally settled, she leaned back in her own chair inhaling deeply as she closed her eyes to shut out Ramsay's off-putting persistence for a response. It was going to be a tricky conversation to delve into Sansa conceded to herself, and Ramsay was going to wait patiently for her to decide exactly how she would choose to disclose what information she would extend to him if any at all.


	48. Step By Step

Chapter Forty-Seven

Step By Step

"He knows," Sansa said wearily as she brought her eyes back up to level on Ramsay's perplexed mien. It was a simple blunt statement Sansa let escape her lips, and she could tell by his expression that what she had announced had sent a myriad of questions to run rampant through Ramsay's mind, so she expounded, "Bran; I don't know how he knows, but he knows… everything."

Her words were received, but Ramsay was having trouble digesting them; his throat constricted, "What… what do you mean… everything?" Ramsay's pupils dilated and his brow knitted with concern as he leaned his head in a little closer as if he hadn't heard Sansa correctly.

Teeth bit down worrying at her lower lip a scant second as the flush of shame Sansa had felt upon Bran's proclamation resurfaced to heat her face and color her cheeks and ears. Her gaze moved away to dart across the expanse of the table as she responded in barely over a whisper, "Everything. He says he's the Three-Eyed-Raven… whatever that means, but the things he said…"

The topic of this conversation was worse than he'd expected, and Ramsay interrupted impatiently, "What exactly _did_ he say?" Sansa's eyes moved back up to lock on Ramsay's, "I didn't ask for elaborate details, but trust Bran stated enough for me to know the things he's aware of… concerning you and I, are things that have not been made common knowledge outside of this bedchamber."

Ramsay's face paled with the humiliation he felt, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water trying to formulate speech but too shocked by the varying outcomes of what Bran could have said to have shaken Sansa to this degree. Finally, he stuttered out, "You're reticent to say… what he shared with you… it… it was bad then?"

Sansa's expression softened seeing Ramsay fret over what she and Bran had spoken on and took into account that she wasn't the only one who had been embarrassed by being outed to such a degree. Ramsay had more reason to feel chagrinned given their relationship and his role in it Sansa well knew, and to put his mind at ease, she leaned forward to cup his hand as she assured, "Not at all. He holds no ill will against you and feels we do each other a service," Sansa's expression morphed to reflect her own confusion as she confessed, "He's my brother, and I love him, but I no longer understand him or the path he's walking. All I do know is that I feel I can trust his judgement regarding us even if the manner in which he delivered it was rather unsettling."

It felt good to have Sansa's hand enveloping his own as she expressed disquiet on her brother's words. For the first time, the two were sharing on the same level where Sansa opened enough to unveil a layer of uncertainty with him that she would never have imparted to Ramsay before. She was confiding in him, and this new link in their bond filled Ramsay's chest with a warmth of fulfillment he'd never recognized or cared to have with another person until now. He placed his other hand over both his and hers giving her hand a soft squeeze offering falteringly, "As long as he sees our union as good, then all is well; isn't it?"

A small smile broke Sansa's serious veneer as she nodded, "Yes; all is well." Ramsay returned her smile with one of his own as genuine relief flooded his face. He had been worried about the young lord's opinion of him, but now his mind eased with the knowledge that Bran was not only holding any sort of animosity towards him, but Sansa's brother seemed to approve of their union even given the torrid secrets that the rest of the noble class was well unaware of.

Harmonious silence passed between Sansa and Ramsay as the mood of reconcilement permeated their conversation. This was good Sansa thought as she rose, and Ramsay's eyes moved to follow her motion. There was a flicker of worry that danced across his brow, but he resolved to remain seated and just observe what Sansa would do as she casually maneuvered around the table letting the tender clasp of their hands slide from the loose hold they had encompassed. Sansa let her fingertips glide up the length of Ramsay's arm to settle lightly on his shoulder as the rest of her body edged itself up behind him where his head rested against her womb. Once she'd halted, Ramsay slowly tilted his head up to see her face needing and wanting the constant connection of her eyes boring into him.

At this angle, Sansa's visage was imposing and enthralling with her jaw set in a relaxed calm that gave her an aura of dominion as she peered down upon him. Ramsay's skyward gaze was fixed upon her, and his impossibly wide blue orbs shifted back and forth questing for comprehension of exactly what they were sharing at this moment and wondering if it was only he that was consumed by the building sentiments he couldn't help but to attach to Sansa throughout the tenure of their short yet very intense rapport. The energy that moved between them had a vivacity all its own beyond the developed sexual hunger that had been the majority of what the two had explored the past few weeks.

Throat bobbing under the constriction of his overwhelming feelings, Ramsay asked hesitantly, "Are we? …Are we well I mean?" A burning question that Ramsay didn't know the answer to and seeing Sansa rapidly blink as her head jerked subtly back in surprise to his inquiry, Ramsay knew that she was just as unsure as he was on what exactly it was that was happening between them, amid what had already transpired, and was still materializing over time, their relationship was a whirlwind of change that had left both jarred by the outcome.

Sansa finally nodded answering slowly, "Yes… I… I think so. I don't have the future sight that my brother, Bran, claims to possess, but I've made an oath to you, and you've made an oath to me, and I cannot speak on your behalf, but that which I have vowed, I will always strive to honor."

Ramsay's nostrils flared with a deep inhale that hitched a pause in his chest; he knew in his heart of hearts that Sansa would respect any pledge she'd made to him no matter how it vexed her with or without an audience to prove she'd stated it to him. It was that annoying Stark quality shining through once more. It unintentionally belittled Ramsay now knowing he had rarely been a man of his word even when he'd made an effort to show he could be confided in to those he'd wanted trust from although he'd stopped caring if he'd actually ever gained anyone other than his father's credence a very long time ago.

Throughout the realm, the Boltons had never been known for their scrupulous dealings, but as a noble house, there had always been a level of decorum levied to every reigning family under the north's banners to remain in the good graces of the Starks for their role as warden of the North. His house had done well enough at maintaining the political arena prior to the coup they'd forged with the Freys, but when alliances crumbled left and right leaving the Boltons as the temporary alpha dog, it was only a fleeting respite until the wolves came back home to chase his house into extinction for their treachery made more bitter by the sting that was compounded by his own hand of familicide. In lieu of the ramifications of their shared history, both politically and personally, Ramsay was struck mute by Sansa's proclamation, but he found himself stirred by her words regardless of his own lack of ability to respond in kind.

Seeming to sense Ramsay's reticence to add his own promise to hers, Sansa smiled down at him slipping the hand that was not resting on his shoulder through Ramsay's bangs in a casual manner as she continued, "You will honor your vows to me as well, Ramsay, if not through your own will than through mine." Ramsay's tongue darted to wet his lips as his mouth felt suddenly dry at her thinly veiled threat. He wanted to proclaim that it need not be by hers as he would abide his pledge by his own will alone, but that was not an assurance he was confident in making, so instead he muttered humbly, "My vow will be upheld."

Sansa's grin widened as she leaned down kissing Ramsay gently on the forehead as she murmured definitively into his hairline, "I know it will." Her proximity had her hot breath roll across the sensitive skin of Ramsay's face eliciting a small shiver to ripple through him, a physical echo of the impact of her words. Again, her statement was a subtle warning, an ' _or else_ ' attached to promise impending repercussions should he err, and Ramsay found the danger of hanging in the balance of her taking him in hand just as alluring as he found it intimidating.

Ramsay's lashes fluttered against the wisps of hair that tickled the sides of his face, and he inhaled deeply the scent of the wafting essence of oils Sansa methodically rubbed into her skin as her hair enveloped the whole of his head. It was as if he were wrapped in a halo of her physical aura, trapped in the wake of a siren's song that threatened to drown him if he didn't find the will to pull away. He didn't want to resist her though, his resolve had long since eroded to her subtle charms, and he was content to let himself fall into the abyss she opened before him. Her lips lifted from his hairline and descended upon the middle of his brow before Sansa withdrew the comforting curtain of her hair to stand up straight once more leaving Ramsay's eyes squinting disagreeably to the invasion of bright light the afternoon sun afforded.

"As much as I'd like to stay the rest of the afternoon with you, you know that I must make appearances yet," Sansa stated with obvious regret as she moved away from Ramsay preparing to leave him once more to fulfill her daily duties. Ramsay didn't ask to attend her this time having had enough interaction with those he'd rather not be confronted with in his current station especially after the last embarrassing spectacle he'd endured being dismissed as he had.

Instead of remarking on her proclamation, Ramsay's head descended to bring his vision back down to piercing the table as his mouth pursed with a frown, and his shoulders stiffened to take on a brooding disposition showing silent displeasure for her declaration. Sansa knew this would be Ramsay's response to her leaving him, and let it slide; she didn't have the energy to address his moodiness although it had made her feel better that she was able to speak civilly with Ramsay about what Bran had revealed to her in the Godswood. That unveiling had given a little more shared truth to the connection she and Ramsay were building that no one other than Jon had been given access to see. Unlike Jon, Bran hadn't needed to be convinced that Sansa could manage Ramsay and had in fact bolstered her determination that what they were forming between them wasn't just okay but good for both of them. Bran's knowledge had shaken her originally but thinking on his words now comforted Sansa in a way she hadn't recognized she'd needed but was ultimately thankful to have heard coming from someone else other than what she'd come to feel was her own misguided thoughts.

"I will see you this evening Ramsay, and perhaps then we can share that bath we spoke on earlier," Sansa mentioned this as she removed her scarf and straightened her hair preparing to head back out a little more dignified than she had the previous outing. Ramsay's eyes darted over to her surveying Sansa as she observed him back through his reflection in her mirror. Ramsay remained quiet to her invitation working for an earnest attempt to remain what he saw himself to be as indifferent to her statement, but his visage painted a very different picture to Sansa who had grown to notice his idiosyncrasies well from being with him under his thumb and from him residing with her under her guidance. Both extremes had revealed far more layers of his personality to Sansa than Ramsay would ever know he had.

The more she learned about Ramsay the more intrigued Sansa was becoming to unravel the tapestry of who he had been. Sansa was confident that tonight she could try again to dig a little deeper and see what Ramsay was willing to relinquish about his past. For now though, she needed to meet with the matron June to coordinate a work detail for he and Melody to complete that would hopefully not terrorize the girl too much.

***…***

Petyr's eyes moved over the tiny parchment that the Vale soldier had brought to him moments prior nodding to himself as a sly grin formed on his lips. The Umbers were ready to take his aide now. Petyr had known they would have been received poorly by the Starks, and he was relieved that his own web of deceit still lay in tact given the gruff straightforward nature of the burly lords of the high northlands. His sights moved to the armored man as he announced, "Prepare me a carriage for Winterfell. We leave at once."

The guard bowed his compliance rushing off to do as he was bid as Petyr moved to ready himself for departure. Word had been received prior for a call to delegates of the newly formed allegiance to the Stark's to celebrate a winter solstice, a gathering at the Stark keep set to commence on the next full moon as a means to unite those that had solidified under the Stark banner. It was a cause to commemorate regaining their holding over Winterfell as well as a means to assemble and discuss further plans of execution towards threats to the East with Cersei and the looming presence of the fabled White Walkers emergence to the North. The political engagement of rubbing shoulders with powerful figures was more than enough of a reason for Petyr to make an appearance, but with this newly added motivation, he would arrive earlier than he'd originally planned.


End file.
